I am here, you silly child
by evil minded
Summary: AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being at Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department … children dying, fathers grieving and fate doing its own miracles – read the NaNo Story from Nov. 2012 ...
1. prologue - the people next door

**Title:**

I am here you silly child

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Summer after first year

**Summary:**

AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being at Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department … children dying, fathers grieving and fate doing its own miracles – read and review the NaNo Story from November 2012 …

**Disclaimer: **

Well … I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hogwarts, his friends or his belongings … J. K. Rowling owns them all … I don't even own Severus Snape - regrettably … Rowling owns him too …

What however doesn't mean that I can't borrow him … as one of my readers once said – a Snape to cuddle in a box *gg* …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing …

Well … like I have promised, here it comes, the story from NaNo 2012, late, but it's here now … and no, even though there's one perverse guy in this chapter, or rather more than one if you count Vernon Dusley too, this story has nothing to do with anything related to sex …

"A few days more" won't be abandoned, I will take turns uptading the stories … thanks for your reading …

**Warning:**

Story will contain references to child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been mistreated.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

* * *

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**I am here you silly child**

**Chapter one **

**Prologue – the people next door**

Jimmy was throwing the bag into the dustbin beside the house, whistling the melody to "let's have a summer sunny day", the newest song in the hit list, while he already thought about tomorrow.

His parents would take him to the beach, together with Mason, Simon and Bemme, and _their_ parents of course. _His_ parents surely wouldn't take three of his friends – a horde of four teenage boys. We're not idiotic enough for that, Jimmy, his father would say and so _their_ parents would come too. They would have a great weekend, watching girls and playing volleyball, enjoying ice cream and ice tea while their mothers would lie in the sun, discussing dinner or reading a good book – if there existed something like a good book. In his opinion there was no good book, because a book held written words and you had to _read_ them.

And the only acceptable books were comic books anyway!

However, while their mothers would try playing housewife and enjoying the sun at the same time, their fathers would sit in the shadowy area of the beach, beneath a hut or a tent, he didn't know yet what would be there, drinking beer and playing cards – and looking for pretty legs, woman legs of course, while trying to hide their gazes from their wives – who would notice anyway but wouldn't say something as they accepted it as something normal which they couldn't change anyway.

Putting the lid of the dustbin back onto the container he heard the neighbouring boy screaming, the boy from number four.

His parents said that the Dursleys had told them about their nephew, that they had taken the boy in and that the boy was ill, somehow – even though he'd never heard about the illness the boy suffered from. Not that he ever had heard the boy's name, it was just the poor ill boy and the Dursleys had taken him in as his parents were dead.

His father however had said that he didn't believe the bullshit the Dursleys told, and neither did he.

He often had heard the boy screaming over the years, even if he'd never heard him screaming during the last school year, he didn't know why though, but he often had heard him screaming before that and comparing it with the screams he'd heard from one or another of his schoolmates when being beaten up by Dursley and his gang – it was clear that the boy was beaten at the Dursleys too, most likely by Dudley Dursley.

He stopped whistling, his mind not up to whistling anymore, but he turned and went inside. He wouldn't be able to change it anyway, his dad had told so after he had come inside and telling his parents that the boy was beaten again, screaming again. And so he didn't say anything anymore, but he didn't go on whistling anymore either.

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It was another thing with Mr. Johnson.

Mr. Johnson from Number five knew for sure that the boy was beaten by Dursley – and not by Dursley Junior the fat lump, but by Dursley Senior, the even fatter lump. And he knew it, because he had seen it. He often had used the binoculars to watch his neighbours, Mrs. Dursley for example, when she changed in her bedroom, or Mrs. Henson on the left side of the Dursleys, watching her in the bathroom as the Hensons had their bedroom on the other side of the house and he had no interest in watching Jimmy in his room. Jimmy was nearly as fat as was the Dursley boy, but only nearly, because he doubted that there was any boy as fat as the Dursley boy was.

He also often had watched Melinda on the other side of the Dursleys' house. Melinda – he had loved it to watch Melinda, the young girl had been very pretty after all, and very slim, but she had moved out a bit over a year ago. She'd told him that she didn't like the way the Dursleys treated their nephew and that she couldn't bear the screams anymore and so she had left Privet Drive. He had missed her, because Mrs. Andrews who had come with her two daughters – well, they hadn't been good-looking either and he didn't get aroused by them, absolutely not, they were too corpulent – fat, in his opinion – too, all three of them.

So that had left him to either watching Mrs. Dursley or Mrs. Hill from Number one Privet Walk.

And to the boy, but the boy had been gone for nearly a year, had been to St. Brutus, school for incurable criminal children, for boys or something like that.

He didn't think hat the boy really was criminal, at least he never had seen him doing a crime and he had watched that boy often, but he didn't care about that, that wasn't his problem. What he cared about was – the boy was there now, bony, beaten, scared, scarred – and he liked that. The boy had been a pretty change from all the other people he could watch – while he had been there. He'd been pretty unhappy about the Dursleys sending the boy to that school, to a boarding school where he wasn't home for the entire year. Not even during the Christmas holidays had the boy been there.

But well, he was back now, and he could watch the boy serving the Dursleys in their kitchen, could watch him scrubbing floors and windows and anything else in their household. He'd gained a bit of weight at this school of his, hadn't been as bony anymore, but well, a few days with the Dursleys had helped with that – what he was very happy for – and right now he could watch Dursley Senior beating the boy up.

His hand automatically went down into his trousers, squeezing and rubbing while watching the beating going on. When Dursley started to forcefully pulling down the _boy's_ trousers he couldn't help groaning loudly, rubbing harder while he watched Dursley spanking the boy's behind with a cane, causing welts that got redder and redder until they started bleeding.

A moment later he came, sighing with relief before realizing with a sense of disappointment that – he had been to soon, again, now he wasn't aroused anymore while Dursley hadn't finished his beating.

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Clara Andrews was listening to her music.

They had moved in Number two Privet Drive about, well, barely a year ago, she guessed.

She wasn't so sure, she hated this place and so it was as if she were living here since years and years without anything that could be considered fun. There were barely any other children in the street. There was Dudley Dursley, the boy next door, from number four, but Dursley was an ugly guy and his friends weren't any better. Then there was Jimmy, from number six, but Jimmy and _his_ friends – well, Jimmy was a good looking guy, and he definitely was always happy, smiling and laughing – but he was an idiot, a typical teenage boy that thought girls were there to kiss the ground his feet were touching, in other words, a macho boy.

Anna, her sister, she was making big pretty-eyes at Jimmy Henson, melting to tears and whimpers whenever she saw him – and it became ugly even whenever they actually met each other, because then Anna started asking Jimmy out. Really, as if Jimmy Henson would go out with Anna – or with her for that matter. Not that she would like going out with the boy, she had no interest in that boy.

No.

Because there was another boy at the street.

She didn't know his name, even though he just lived next door, and she didn't know anything else about him either except that – he was there since four weeks only.

Mr. Dursley, Dudley Dursley's father, he called him freak, as did Dudley, not a nice thing, really, and Mrs. Dursley called him boy. She preferred boy, because freak really was not nice. But that boy, the black haired boy with his green eyes, these pretty green eyes and the scar on his forehead, a lightning shaped scar, she loved it, even though the boy always tried to hide the scar.

She didn't like the way Mr. Dursley treated the boy either, but Mr. Dursley was an idiot, just like Dudley Dursley was, the wobbling pudding.

Alright, she knew that she wasn't super slender either, and nor was Anna, what was the reason as to why she knew that Jimmy Henson didn't even look at Anna – but well, it would take her years to become as fat as Dudley was, if that was even possible.

The boy however was thin and bony and she was sure that he had bulimia or something like that.

Emily Chanson, from seventh year had bulimia and she was as thin as was that boy, and as pale, always. She couldn't really blame Emily. If she had a father like her, she would have troubles too. Well, alright, she wouldn't have troubles eating, but she definitely would have troubles sleeping if she had a father like that. That man embarrassed her whenever he could! Once he had visited her at school, bringing her lunch which Emily apparently had forgotten – a blue box with a racing car and some idiotic signs, really. And at another time the man had brought her a jacket, a green jacket with a hood. What girl in their right mind would wear a green jacket? And with a hood no less? That was boys' stuff!

But well, she wasn't Emily Chanson but Clara Andrews and so she didn't have to care about that, and the boy wasn't Emily Chanson either, but a Dursley, and well, she just liked him, even though she didn't like the Dursleys.

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And Harry Potter himself?

Well, would Harry Potter have a calendar in his cupboard, then he would know that it was four weeks into the holidays. As he however did not have one, he wasn't really sure what date it was, what day it was, what week it was. He had lost every sense of time since he was back at the Dursleys, didn't know how long he was at Privet Drive, how long he had suffered or when he would be going back to Hogwarts – if he would be going back at all, that was.

And no, it wasn't so absurd, because – well, as it was, things slowly but surely were getting worse for him.

He hadn't eaten a real meal for days. He hadn't eaten a real meal since he had arrived at Privet Drive actually, and not much other stuff either. He had nicked a slice of old and stale bread from the bin when he had cooked the Dursleys' dinner a few days ago and he had hidden an apple when aunt Petunia hadn't been looking, but that had been all.

Well, at least the Dursleys had been as "kind" as to allow him a glass of water each day and Harry made sure that he didn't drink it in one go. Just as he did with the slice of old bread he had nicked and the apple he had taken. He had stowed it in his cupboard on a shelf behind a cleaning solution, and as aunt Petunia never used the cleaning supplies when he was there to clean up the house, she hadn't found it there.

It had lasted three days.

If just someone would come for him, one of his friends, or even one of his teachers – at the moment he even would be satisfied with his Potions Master – but no one came, and Harry slowly was falling apart. He barely could keep himself upright anymore, he barely could finish the chores aunt Petunia gave him each morning anymore, and he barely could handle the beatings uncle Vernon gave him each evening anymore.

After he had come back from school this summer, it had been worse than all the years before and he only could guess that his aunt and uncle were _very_ angry about him actually having managed to go to the freak school, that they wanted nothing else than to finally beating the magic out of him – and he simply had no energy left to tell them that it wouldn't be possible.

He wasn't stupid, and he knew that – if he stayed with the Dursleys, then he wouldn't make it back to Hogwarts. The problem was – he couldn't leave number four. Uncle Vernon had taken his wand the moment he had picked him up from Kings Cross, and he had taken his trunk with all his belongings too, including any spare clothing.

The Dursleys locked him into the cupboard every evening and they let him out in the morning – and during the day he had to do his chores under the watchful eyes of aunt Petunia. They didn't give him more clothes than the Jeans he was wearing, and a t-shirt, knowing that he couldn't run away without clothes, without his wand, without anything else.

He was glad that he had sent Hedwig to Hagrid during the summer break or his uncle would have another bargain tool to control him. The lack of food and clothes, the tiredness and the beatings as well, as his wand that was withheld from him were already enough.

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Arabella Figg was sighing, unhappily.

She wasn't pleased about the little fact that today it was Petunia's birthday, because she had planned it so long, she had to act now, now of all times, now that Tibbles was so unwell. The cat wasn't eating since yesterday and she really was worried about Tibbles.

But well, she had to find out more and for that she had to get a closer view – and for _that_, she would have to visit the Dursleys. And today was Petunia's birthday, it was the perfect opportunity. She was the boy's former babysitter after all and so it wouldn't be too strange if she visited. She could bring a small present and she could make sure that she would stay for a cup of coffee – and maybe for a nice piece of cake. Petunia Dursley was known for her apple cake after all.

She knew for sure that there was something strange with the Dursleys and the way they treaded Harry. The boy was too small for his age, still, even after a year at Hogwarts, and he was too scrawny and too pale too. Dumbledore too was worried, he had told her so, as was Minerva.

She wasn't so sure about Dumbledore's honesty however.

When Harry had been really small, in the beginning when she had moved to Little Whinging, she often had reported to Dumbledore, had told him that the boy surely wasn't treated well there, that he always was too hungry when he was with her while the Dursleys were on their holidays and that he was so thin and didn't grow like any other one or two-year old child should.

Dudley Dursley definitely had grown much sooner and much more than Harry Potter had after all.

She also had told him when the boy hadn't started speaking like any other normal child would have done and she had tried to get Dumbledore to see it all too – without any success. Dumbledore had always told her that she saw things too seriously, that she should give the boy more time for growing and speaking, and catching up with things, that she was overly worried and should get a cat.

But well, today she would get the proof!  
Because today she would visit Number four, Privet Drive and therefore the Dursleys and Harry.

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Benjamin Chrantzl was walking along Privet Drive on his way home from the grocery, leaning on his cane, breathing heavily, and he was passing number four on the other side of the road. He always changed the road while crossing number four, because he was scared of Dursley.

He had told the man off one day, a few years ago, when he had seen Dursley beating a small child in the garden.

He hadn't known why Dursley had beaten the child and he surely hadn't known who the child had been nor did he know the reason now, but Dursley had beaten the child in his garden, and really cruelly so. He had told the man off, had told him that he better stopped beating a helpless child, and such a small child no less, but Dursley had only gotten angrier and had increased the beating of the child while screaming at him, Benjamin, to stop his nosiness, that it wasn't his business.

He had been shocked.

Such behaviour wouldn't have been allowed in Austria where he came from, and angrily he had entered Dursley's property with the intention to stop the man's abuse over a helpless and small child.

The man had broken his knee that day and he had troubles walking ever since. He managed to walk to the park, or to the grocery, to Scott, his friend – but that was it. Whenever he had any dealings that went beyond the park and the grocery, then he had to call for a taxi and a trip to London, even though he could use the subways, it was slow going, needed a lot of planning beforehand and ended in a day spent, ended in tiredness and a sharp pain in his left knee.

He didn't know where the Dursleys had been hiding the child, because he now knew that this boy was living there, and back then he had told the police officer Dursley had called that he had seen the man beating a helpless child. He had told the same to the ambulance men the police officer had called – however, none of them had found the boy. and they had looked, he knew that, he had still been there when the police officer had – politely – asked Dursley if it were alright if they took a closer look around and Dursley had told them that – of course, he wouldn't have anything to hide as they were godly and honest people who only wanted to be left alone. Dursley had sworn that there wouldn't be a boy other than their son living with them and no other boy had been found.

He had given up on anything when he had been accused of trespassing and attacking Dursley and after ending up with a badly damaged knee and a charge of breaking and bodily harm. And ever since, he had to admit that, he was scared of Dursley, always changed the side of the street.

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"Oh, good afternoon, my dear Petunia, and happy birthday to you!" She said, smiling happily at the woman who looked at her as if in shock. Well, she had to admit that – most likely Petunia _was_ in shock, most likely the woman had expected any neighbour but her. She didn't care though. She had a job to do and then she would go home to her Tibbles.

"I've brought you a glass of my mixed pickles, Petunia, dear." She said, smiling, lifting the basket she was carrying. "And a leaf of bread and some of my brother's sausages, all of it self made. I know how much your husband and your Duddikins love self made things, Petunia. It's a shame that Harry reacts allergic to the salt, but surely you'll enjoy it."

Allergic to the salt! Ha! She knew that the boy didn't react allergic to salt – nor to other things. She'd had the boy overnight once or twice when he'd been smaller, or rather younger, because little Harry hadn't grown too much since then. She knew very well that the boy just didn't get enough food at the Dursleys because little Harry had always been so hungry when he had been at her house.

"But Arabella, you really shouldn't have!" Petunia smiled, but she knew that it wasn't a real smile.

She wasn't an idiot and she knew very well that Petunia didn't like her. Petunia had allowed her to babysit Harry because she had offered and because she had done it for free, but that was all, there was no friendship between Petunia and her – to pretend that there was, was actually fun at the moment, and so she smiled.

"Oh, it was nothing, Petunia, dear." She waved off, shoving the basket into Mrs. Dursley's arms.

"Why don't you come in, Arabella?" Petunia asked and happily she obliged, entered Number four Privet Drive.

What she met, was a spotless household.

The hallway was bright and clean, not even shoes standing in a corner or another, the stairway to the cellar was stone scrubbed clean and the doorframes to the individual rooms were washed too.

Petunia quickly led her past the kitchen, but she saw Harry anyway standing at the kitchen counter, working on what clearly seemed to be dinner. Maybe Petunia's celebrated apple cake wasn't hers at all, she couldn't help wondering, but Harry's?

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'_Please, let her see me __… please let her take me away … please let her tell someone … please let her see me … please let her …'_

Well, at first he had been startled, scared even, angry, upon Mrs. Figg visiting aunt Petunia. And he had been ashamed.

Of course, Mrs. Figg had seen him before, after one or another beating from uncle Vernon, and while being starved and … well, anything … everything … whatever…

Fact was, Mrs. Figg had seen him like this before – even though he thought that back then, when the older woman had babysat him, it never had been as bad as it was now. But she _had_ seen him like this before. So he didn't know why he should be embarrassed, why he should be ashamed, why he should feel bad. But he had. He had felt really, really bad, had hoped that Mrs. Figg wouldn't see him in the kitchen …

Of course he knew that his aunt wouldn't lead Mrs. Figg into the kitchen, she never did, people could see _him_ working there after all, but he knew that people could look into the kitchen when passing.

Not to mention that – he had wondered about _why_ she even would be here. Never before had she visited aunt Petunia, neither for her birthday nor for Christmas or any other occurrence. So what was Mrs. Figg doing here?

He also knew that aunt Petunia didn't like Mrs. Figg, so he at least knew that she surely hadn't invited Mrs. Figg. And surely Mrs. Figg didn't like Petunia either – so, why was she here, in Merlin's name?

He had tried to listen to the conversation in the living room, had tried to find out more information, to find out if he would be in trouble and how deep he would be in trouble if he were – just to know the punishment uncle Vernon would surely bestow upon him. But listening to a conversation and trying to cook dinner at the same time, it simply was impossible, utterly impossible, and so he knew that he better concentrated onto the roast pork and the steamed vegetables – not to mention the dumplings and the cake for dessert. He hated making dumplings. The roast pork was easy as soon as he was done with the seasoning, the roasting and had finished the roux, and the steamed vegetables were easy too, but the dumplings, he'd always had troubles with them. They either crumbled away or they got too hard or too soft.

And well, he knew what would happen then, he realized with a sigh – so he better didn't concentrate on things he couldn't change anyway but concentrated on the cooking, hoping and praying that it wouldn't come to the worst.

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Arabella Figg sighed unhappily.

How could they tread the child so … so badly!

She hadn't said anything, of course not, she knew that if she said something, then the Dursleys only would have the boy paying for the anger they felt – she of course couldn't allow that to happen … but she would like to invite Remus Lupin for example, the werewolf in the order, or she would like to invite Henri. She didn't know his family name, but she knew that he was in the order too, and that he was a Vampire. She would love it having them here right now, because she knew that the Dursleys would be scared to death then, knew that they would be punished by them then.

It was a strange thing with Vampires and with werewolves. At least if they weren't the kind of werewolves like Fenrir Grayback was. Because Fenrir Grayback surely wouldn't care too much about any child being mistreated. But she knew that any werewolf would not look without loosing control and punishing the Dursleys. and neither would any Vampire. But well, she had no way of contacting either Remus Lupin or Henri.

Dumbledore would be able contacting them, but Dumbledore surely never would listen to her, she had tried before after all.

She of course also could have informed Severus Snape.

She knew Snape from the order too, and she also knew that Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts who cared for the beaten children in his house, in Slytherin – but she also knew that Snape hated Harry. She didn't know why the man hated him, only that it was something very deep and very old, because of something Harry's father had done many years ago, but she remembered one or another of the order meetings, after Dumbledore had brought Harry to the Dursleys and placed her in Little Whinging too to watch the boy.

In the beginnings there had been a few order meetings still, even though You-Know-Who had been gone. And during one or another of these meetings she had told Dumbledore that she didn't like the way little Harry was treated at the Dursleys, even though he was a small, little and innocent baby only that surely hadn't done anything.

Snape had sneered at her, accusing her of overreacting upon the brat not getting any pudding and sweets, and he had sounded so hateful, she knew that she didn't have to tell Snape.

She would like grabbing the boy and taking him with her but she knew that _that_ wouldn't go over well. She however couldn't wait to get out of there and contact Hogwarts. This boy looked like he was barely able to stand and worse off than ever before.

As soon as supper came close Petunia had made an excuse that she were expecting a colleague of his husband, of Vernon Dursley, his boss actually and escorted Mrs. Figg to the door, but she knew that it was an excuse only, to get her out of the house, because she knew that Petunia surely would not have her husband's boss over on her birthday. She was getting visits from friends for dinner.

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Harry inwardly panicked at the thought of his surely only chance for help slipping away before his eyes when he watched Mrs. Figg leaving, but outwardly he smiled and said good bye to his former babysitter, knowing that in the evening, after he had finished serving the guests, and after he had finished the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, and most likely the laundry too, then uncle Vernon would have his fun with him, using him as a punching bag.

He didn't even have to ask for dinner himself after the guests had gone – because aunt Petunia's gaze alone was enough that told him – he wouldn't get some.

Inwardly sighing, because he knew what would happen if he showed any outward displeasure, he went back into the kitchen, preparing dinner for the evening, preparing the kitchen and the living room for the visitors, a bunch of chattering women from all over the place that would gossip, that would be excited about aunt Petunia's nephew playing the servant, not knowing that he was a servant for real, not knowing that he was a slave to the Dursleys actually, and not knowing that after their leave he would have to pay for any mistakes the servant – or rather slave – had done during their visit.

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Dudley Dursley was hiding behind the door of his room, the door being closed except for a small crack through which he tried to look down the stairway, through which he tried to listen.

He wasn't stupid, he was twelve now and ever since he was at Smeltings he had learned a few things, for example that people had rights, that every people had rights, that there was no such a thing as freaks, that people who were called freaks by some other people still were humen, still were people, and that they had rights like he had, that they felt the same way he felt.  
When their teacher had told them that, he had waited until after the lessons and then he had approached his teacher, and had asked him if someone other people called freak would feel the same pain as did he, if they felt the same fear as did he and his teacher had told him that – yes, of course these people were human beings and felt exactly the same as did he.

His teacher then had asked if he knew someone who was called a freak by others, but he quickly had shaken his head no, because surely he couldn't tell his teacher what his parents were doing to the freak?

To the freak.

Back then he had thought – to the freak. But now? Now he knew that Harry wasn't a freak but a boy like him, with just some special abilities like Johnny Johnson who could look at a page for just a short moment and then would remember it forever. Or like Reginald Black who was blind and anyways found his way through the school because his parents refused to have him attending a school for disabled children. And so Reginald had been forced to learn getting along in a world of the seeing people, and he managed.

It wasn't so different from what Harry was doing. Because Harry did things they didn't understand and Johnny and Reginald did things he didn't understand too. It was as easy as this.

Of course he couldn't help Harry.

His parents would kill him if he did.

He had crept down into the hallway during one night, a box of crackers in his arms and a bottle of coke, but the cupboard had been locked and he hadn't been able to give it to Harry. And during the day his mom always watched like a hawk. But he knew that it was wrong what his parents were doing, and he knew that it was very bad what they were doing too. He often could hear Harry crying in the night, and he could hear his screams when his dad beat him, but his dad just didn't stop and that actually made him angry at his father.

But it was wrong what they were doing!

And he had sworn this summer holidays while watching, that he never ever beat his children.

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The moment Arabella Figg came home she was greeted by the mewing of her cats, of Tibbles and Shadow and Snowy, and with an "oh, my poor babies" she bent down to pick up Tibbles and carry him into the living room where she sat onto the sofa, holding Tibbles in her lap and running her fingers through the soft fur.

"Oh, you poor babies." She smiled at them. "I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long, but now I'm here, don't worry, my poor baby, your mummy is home again. Are you hungry? Yes, of course you're hungry! You poor catty kitties …"

Half an hour later all her babies were fed and cared for and she was sitting in her armchair, her babies around her, and she was starting to fall asleep in front of the television, all thought of Harry Potter and Petunia Dursley being gone, wiped from her mind like a leave being blown off the tree by the storm, the storm that would sweep through the town, would destroy houses and lives, would destroy futures and everything that stood in its way – just like the thought being lost on Arabella Figg's mind would be a death sentence to Harry Potter too, the boy's last chance of getting help, his last chance to maybe survive the summer with the Dursleys.

Because there was no one, none of the people next doors, who cared enough to do something, to fight for him, to stand up and risk something for a small and helpless child.

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* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in I am here you silly child**

_Another wizard living in a muggle environment curing his holidays and what dealings the teacher would have with the student_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be very grateful if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you …

**House cup: **

At the present time it looks like this:

723 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

714 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

612 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

359 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife


	2. before the vision

**Title:**

I am here you silly child

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Summer after first year

**Summary:**

AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being at Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department … children dying, fathers grieving and fate doing its own miracles – read and review the NaNo Story from November 2012 …

**Disclaimer: **

Well … I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hogwarts, his friends or his belongings … J. K. Rowling owns them all … I don't even own Severus Snape - regrettably … Rowling owns him too …

What however doesn't mean that I can't borrow him … as one of my readers once said – a Snape to cuddle in a box *gg* …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing …

I have deleted the sequence of the spanking in this chapter, after I have been informed by a reader that a part of it was similar to another story and before anyone could say I'm steeling of other authors, I rather rewrite my part - I'll add it again as soon as it is rewritten, thanks for your understanding …

**Warning:**

Story will contain references to child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been mistreated.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in I am here you silly child**

_Inwardly sighing, because he knew what would happen if he showed any outward displeasure, he went back into the kitchen, preparing dinner for the evening, preparing the kitchen and the living room for the visitors, a bunch of chattering women from all over the place that would gossip, that would be excited about aunt Petunia's nephew playing the servant, not knowing that he was a servant for real, not knowing that he was a slave to the Dursleys actually, and not knowing that after their leave he would have to pay for any mistakes the servant – or rather slave – had done during their visit. _

**I am here you silly child**

**Chapter two **

**Before the vision**

It was summer, July the fifteenth, for being correct, four weeks into the holidays, finally _– _and he could do as he wished. No schedule to follow, no meals to attend to in the great hall, no lessons and no trouble around him. He could just sit there, reading, thinking or doing nothing at all if he so wished. He could be wandering through the gardens or through the park, he could ignore the headmaster and his stupid calls and he even could ignore anything else that had _anything_ to do with school at all.

It wasn't that he didn't like the school in general. Hogwarts was his home after all, his real home.

And it wasn't even that he didn't like teaching.

He just disliked teaching the dunderhead idiots that the students in general were. The sixth and seventh years were acceptable students, he had to admit, those who had passed their OWLs and landed in his NEWT classes. Those were the ones who actually _wanted_ to learn. So _– _no, he didn't mind teaching _them_. But the first to fifth years, especially the first and second years, they were the worst.

All in all _– _it was his well deserved summer holidays and he intended to actually enjoy them.

Right now he was reading an article in Potions Monthly, about a potion that allowed a wizard to become invisible for two hours. Alison-Lee McDowell had invented the Potion for her Mastery this year. She seemed to be a gifted Potions Mistress, but nevertheless she had not been able to get the active time of the potion changed to more or less hours than two without the potion getting unstable.

Frowning Snape went over the formula.

He couldn't imagine that there was no way to change the active time and he actually planned on trying to brew the potion himself. If he succeeded, then he would send the altered formula to the girl. She surely could need the help.

He wouldn't do so normally, but in this case _– _well, the girl seemed to take her studies and the Potions Mastery seriously, really wanting to achieve results instead of only making money with unstable potions. So yes, he _– _even though he seldom did so _– _went back to the silent rule that one Potions Master should help another Potions Master.

And he was sure that he would succeed. He even was sure where exactly the girl had made her mistake.

Well, it wasn't a mistake at all McDowell had done. It rather was a plant she had not thought of adding. Or maybe she had thought of it, but had discarded the thought as the moonflower seeds would render the potion uselessly, making the drinker asleep if no stimulating counter-ingredient was added. Like for example …

The old phone, still sitting on the corner table, made itself known by ringing, getting him out of his thoughts and the Potions Master frowned at the offending thing. He really should have gotten rid of the thing the moment he had inherited Spinner's End so many years ago. Why his mother had accepted his father's wish to have a simple muggle life instead of accepting his wife being a witch, he had never understood. The man had been a violent drunk and his mother should have divorced, should have left him to rot alone. But she hadn't. And he _– _well, he hadn't discarded the old phone that stood on the corner table either, whatever reason for he had kept the bloody thing.

Sighing in frustration he got off the armchair, wondering who in Merlin's name would call on him, especially as it was in the middle of the night, while at the same time knowing that if he didn't answer the call, the phone would continue annoying him. Sometimes one or another of the neighbours called, asking him if he needed anything.

Those elderly women somehow seemed to be in the misconception that he, as a young bachelor who lived only two and a half months of the year alone at Spinner's End, would be unable of caring for himself.

It all had started with Mrs. Adams seven or eight years ago. One day he had seen the old woman more staggering than walking through the park, resting every now and then while coming from the grocery and carrying a shopping bag home. It had been clear that the woman had not been feeling well and knowing old women in general, she surely had not seen a doctor, believing that she would be fine in a few days using home remedies.

So he had crossed the street, had gone over to her, simply taking the shopping bag from her hand and with a steadying grip on her upper arm he had led her home.

**Flashback**

_"Oh, I really do thank you, Mr. Snake." The woman said after he had introduced himself, her voice raspy and he could hear her breath coming in rattling gasps. He guessed that the woman had a starting pneumonia. He actually was sure of it. _

_"Snape." He simply corrected her. "Severus Snape."_

_"Oh. Yes, of course, Mr. Snape." The woman said. "You don't find many nice young men nowadays who are willing to give help."_

_"I cannot disagree on that, Mrs. Adams." He answered, fully agreeing with the old woman._

_"Oh?" The woman panted, stopping to catch her breath even though their pace hadn't been a fast one. "You know who I am?"_

_"Seeing as I live at Spinner's End since long years __– _yes, I do." He drawled. "Number seventy-one."

_The woman cast a thoughtful gaze over at him._

_"Snape." She simply said. "Of course, now I remember. Tobias Snape had lived there with his wife. So __– _you are his young son. I only remember you as a small child."

_"I have been visiting a boarding school since I was eleven." He explained politely. "After that I went to teaching at the same school. I only live here for two and a half months during the summer holidays."_

_"Yes, that explains why I didn't remember immediately. You've grown. You've been a rather small and shy boy."_

_"Well, my father wasn't the most pleasant person." Snape answered, frowning at his own words. Since when did he converse about his father to strangers?_

_"Yes, I remember." The woman said, eyeing him carefully. "He always got into one or another trouble with the neighbours because he's been drunk. I'm sorry to mention …"_

_"There is no reason to be, Mrs. Adams." He said. "We all know that Tobias Snape had been a drunkard and an unpleasant person. I do not feel offended."_

_They walked on in silence for a while, his hand still steadying the older woman and soon they reached number seventy-two, the house Mrs. Adams lived in. He accompanied her inside, disposed the bag at the kitchen table and ushered the woman into the living room, onto the sofa, where he secretly cast a diagnostic spell at her. _

_Well, he had been right. It was a starting pneumonia._

_He made sure that the street was empty of any muggles and then carefully summoned a vial of his potions, reached it towards the woman who downed it with a curious glance at the small glass bottle but apparently was desperate enough to take the "medicine" without questions. He emptied the shopping bags, stowed the food away in the fridge and the cupboards and the moment he went back to the living room, Mrs. Adams was fast asleep._

**End flashback**

He had stayed over for the night and the following day until he was sure that the worst was over and ever since Mrs. Adams had called at least once a week during the holidays, asking if he needed anything. Soon other neighbours had followed and he was sure that the old lady had told her friends about the _nice Mr. Snape_ that had helped her and had given her medicine.

He shuddered at the _'nice Mr. Snape part'_.

The following summer Mrs. Manson had knocked at his door.

Mrs. Manson was _– _ contraire to the rest of the neighbourhood _– _ a rather young woman, and she had told him that her son Marc had trouble in math, had asked if he couldn't help the boy as she herself was terrible in that subject.

"Mrs. Adams said you're a teacher." She had said. "And so I thought that maybe you could help Marc to improve. It isn't that he's stupid. He's a very kind and intelligent boy, but his teacher is a friend of my ex-husband who has told a lot of awful stories and so he always picks on the boy. And now he simply hates the subject."

Well, he had ended up giving the boy private lessons in math.

At first he had frowned at the woman's words, knowing that every mother would say that her children were kind and intelligent, that it was the teacher's fault. But he soon had learned that the seven year old boy really was _indeed_ well raised and intelligent, and Marc soon had improved his abilities in math. He remembered that his teacher had given him bad marks nevertheless, until he had gone to visit the boy's teacher one day. It had been a rather funny conversation, for him at least, but from this moment on the boy's marks had improved as well.

However _– _ normally those old women that were his neighbours wouldn't call on him so late in the night. So _– _ maybe one of them had an accident. Most of them were widows after all and had no one to look after them. So he simply took the receiver and answered the call.

"Snape." He said, not really sure why he remembered one particular _– _and rather strange _– _call, from many years ago.

**Flashback**

_Casting an evil glare at the phone he got off his armchair to answer the call, with the full intention on his mind that he would blast the bloody thing out of the window as soon as he had put the receiver back down. He hated that bloody thing and nothing good came out of it anyway._

_He could have of course rented a wizarding house, or at least a comfortable and large flat somewhere in Diagon Alley – he had made enough money throughout the year, after all. _

_Teachers in the muggle world weren't paid too much money, he knew that, but a teacher at a wizarding school got paid a lot of money due to the higher risks – especially a teacher teaching at a wizarding boarding school and not to mention that not only was he a Potions Master and no simple teacher, but the head of a house too – and as he was a man who didn't need much, well, he had saved a lot of money. He wasn't even sure if it wouldn't be enough already to buy a small house – but he didn't want that. He had saved all his money and he would save even more and then he would make sure that Snape Castle got restored. He would be the one making sure that the old ancestry house was inhabited again. _

_"Snape." He answered the phone with a growl._

_"Hello." Came the voice of a very small child from the receiver. "Can you help me, please?"_

_"Who are you?" He asked, frowning at the bloody receiver. "And what do you need help with?" Didn't this child's parents take care of their bloody brat?_

_"'m Timmy." The child answered – so, he had to deal with a boy. "'n I need help with math."_

_With what? With math? _

_He had a little brat calling him because of his math homework?_

_"Don't you think that your parents would be more suitable for helping with your homework?" He asked, frowning. _

_"They're not here." The boy said. "Can you help me?"_

_"Where do you live?" He asked – that boy sounded young enough to need a parent at home instead of being left alone._

_"At home." Came the answer from the receiver and he inwardly groaned. "Can you help me now?"_

_"And where is your home?" He asked, cursing under his breath._

_"Here!" The boy answered and he nearly groaned. Of course the boy would give him an answer like that. "Can you please help me now?"_

_"What is the problem?" He finally asked, knowing that he wouldn't get a straight answer out of the boy, he apparently was too young to know where exactly he lived. Merlin! Wasn't it enough to have to teach the little brats during the school time? Did he have to get called by a little muggle boy during his holidays now too?_

_"I have to do take aways." The boy said, giving him a suffering sigh._

_"So __…" He sighed himself, not even knowing why he didn't put the bloody receiver back immediately. _

_"Uhm … nine … take away seven … what's that?" The boy asked and he blinked at the telephone. That boy actually asked him what – nine minus seven was? That surely wasn't … _

_"How old are you?" He asked, not sure if he should find out the location of the brat and take him over his knees._

_"'m five." The boy answered and he sighed. Alright – so it was not so absurd, the boy not knowing what nine minus seven was._

_"Now, what do you think it is?" He finally asked._

_"I don't know __… maybe five?"_

_"Surely not." He sighed. "Do you have another task?"_

_"Sure!" The boy called out, sounding desperate. "The paper is full with 'em."_

_"Merlin!" He growled. Surely he wouldn't sit here all day long and tell the boy the solutions to his math problems._

_"Do you have a garden at your home?" He asked. "Maybe with a lawn?"_

_"No." The boy answered, sounding unsure. "But we have a driveway … with pebbles."_

_"That is very good." He said. "Can you go and get a handful off those pebbles?"_

_"Sure." The boy said. _

_"Do not go anywhere else and leave the door open, do you hear? Boy? Timmy?" Sighing he waited, hoping that the boy would make sure the door wouldn't fall close while he was outside. The child had been quick with doing as he'd told him, too quick for him to give him an answer. If only his students at Hogwarts would be so quick with obeying his commands too. _

_"I have them." The little boy's voice came back, panting and it was clear that he'd been running. _

_"Good." He sighed, again a suffering sigh. "Now you count nine pebbles on the table."_

_"Ok." The boy said, followed by a soft "one … two … three … four … five … six … seven … eight … nine … have nine pebbles."_

_"Good." He said, shaking his head about his own idiocy, wasting his valuable time with a little brat like this boy on the phone over something as trivial as a math problem. "And now you take seven of the pebbles away."_

_"Ok." The boy again said before there was another softly whispered "one … two … three … four … five … six … seven … have taken them 'way."_

_"Good." He groaned out in frustration. "Now how many pebbles are left?"_

_"Two." The boy answered, happily. _

_"Well, then nine take away seven is?"_

_"Two!" The boy nearly screamed into the receiver and therefore his ear happily. _

_"Indeed." He took a deep breath. "And this way I am sure you will be able solving your other math problems just as easily."_

_"Can I call you 'gain if I can't?" The boy asked and he smirked, knowing that the brat surely had dialed any number and only by accident had gotten him, that he surely hadn't remembered the combinations of numbers he'd used. _

_"I do not know if you can, but you may." He therefore said before putting the receiver back down. _

**End flashback**

Well, the thing was – the boy had called him nearly every day, for nearly two months, sometimes with a different math problem, sometimes with an entirely different subject and sometimes with the same problem when things seemed to grow over his head.

In the beginning he even had thought that there was a teenager behind the calls who used his little brother for a prank, but soon he had learned that the boy's parents both were working, expecting him to work on different subjects during the afternoon, forgetting that a five year old surely was too young for doing such things alone. One time the boy even had been crying. Not that he would ever allow any child to affect him with his tears – and surely that boy hadn't either, but he had done his best to help his little daily caller anyway.

Huffing he remembered the shrill children's voice, shaking his head.

The brat hadn't called during the next summer and he had to admit – he had missed it.

So much to teaching and little brats needing help – if it only were such little problems than the one with Timmy, he would be a lucky man, but the problems the teens here at Hogwarts had, they started with hexes, curses and charms and went over to potions and potions ingredients – and between there lay magical allergies, wizarding illnesses and of course – depressions. Or suffering from the after effects of right-out abuse and neglect, like in many Slytherins' case.

"Good evening, Mr. Snape." A male voice at the other end of the circuit answered and he frowned, for a moment even wondering if his little daily caller from years ago might have grown into an adult already and might have remembered him _– _ because he didn't know why else anyone that was not his neighbours would call him. "I am William Everson from London Police Department. You are Severus Snape, I presume?"

"Indeed." The Potions Master said, wondering what in Merlin's name the police would wand of him _– _but at least, it wasn't his little, now grown, daily caller from the past.

"Well, Mr. Snape." The man said hesitantly. "We have picked up your son in London half an hour ago. He didn't do anything wrong, don't worry." He quickly added as if to quell his worries. "He had been cornered by a few bullies that are well known to us and we took him with us before they would harm him. If you could pick him up, Mr. Snape?"

His son?

Snape blinked for a moment, frowned at the receiver and then gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"I will be there shortly." He simply said and put down the receiver.

He turned towards the front door, grabbed his jacket and left the house, wondering which imbecile had dared naming him, Severus Snape, as his father. It only could be a student from Hogwarts as no other child knew him. Well, aside from Marc, but Marc was safe at home. He knew that Mrs. Manson looked out for the boy and she never would allow her son alone in London at such an hour.

He went into an empty alley and apparated to London, into Cabbage Alley near the beadhouse.

It could be Draco, maybe, the only child he could imagine daring to use his name as his father's. Draco Malfoy was his godson after all. And if he _– _ what ever reason for _– _ had landed himself in London and at a muggle Police Department no less, he surely would not want his father picking him up, surely aware of the little fact that his father, being a pure blood wizard, would be anything than pleased.

But somehow he doubted it. He couldn't imagine the boy having any dealings ending up in muggle London, alone.

He walked down the road and entered the Willow Lane.

Probably it was one of his other Slytherins.

There were some that lived in London, and he knew that there were some who had a home life far from ideal and none of them would wish their fathers picking them up from the Police in the middle of the night.

Reaching the end of Willow Lane he turned left into the Department Road.

His little daily caller _– _it had been during the summer holidays after his first year of teaching at Hogwarts, in other words it had been summer 1979. Little Timmy had been five years old back then, and so he had to be eighteen years old now, and therefore he was even in the muggle world already an adult, surely not needing to name a parent at the police anymore.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Severus Snape entered the Police Department in London and went to the reception where a young man in uniform looked up at him questioningly.

The place was filled with bright light coming from the neon lamps above and behind the counter he could see a board with a lot of blinking lights and colourful dots, some of them softly beeping and humming. The now dark windows were large and even though the office was a bit too bright for his liking, it seemed to be at least friendly.

"What can I do for you, sir?" The man behind the counter asked with a kind smile and Snape inwardly cringed. If those muggle police men smiled at the criminals like that, they surely would come with them by free will, wouldn't they?

"Severus Snape." The Potions Master introduced himself, glaring at the man. "I am here for my son."

"Ah, yes, the boy." The man's smile even widened and he went to round the counter. "A fine lad, Mr. Snape. If you'll follow me, I'll lead you to Officer Benson. The boy's with him." He nodded towards a just as annoyingly smiling woman behind the counter, making sure that she would overtake duty or whatever, and then led him through the hall and down a corridor.

"Found him in the park where he'd been cornered by a few of our well known troublemakers." The officer babbled on. "Took him with us before he could get beaten up by them. A kind young lad, didn't ask for anything and really listened to Benson's lecture 'bout being in the park all alone, apologized for causing any trouble. Benson told him that it wasn't trouble at all but he'd apologized anyway."

Snape wished the man would stop his senseless babbling and maybe say the boy's name so he would know who the imbecile was before he stood in front of him, but the officer didn't and he knew _– _ asking for the boy's name was out of question. It would sound a bit strange if he asked for his _– _ well, for his _'own son's'_ name. The boy, whoever it was, would rue the day he had named _him_ _– _ of all people _– _ as his father, that one was for sure. The boy would learn that it wouldn't be pleasant if he had _him _as a father.

Well _– _ at least the boy, whoever it was, had not shamed him but had been polite and on good behaviour as it seemed from the officer's description. At least the boy had apologized for causing such a racket _– _ what wouldn't keep him from punishing the boy for causing _him, Snape_, trouble and using his name as his father's.

The officer knocked at a door down the hallway and opened it.

"The boy's father, Benson." He said, allowing him in and the Potions Master strolled past the smiling and babbling idiot and stepped into the office _– _ where he had to call up all of his spying abilities to remain unsurprised, at least outwardly.

Potter!

It was no other one than Harry Bloody Potter sitting on a chair opposite an elderly officer _– _ Potter, of all people.

The damn brat showed one fleeting look of confusion before a mask of some kind crossed the pale face, wiping all expression from it, even the panic, the pain and the tiredness he had spotted for a split second and he only could think of glamours of some kind. The thing was _– _ he didn't feel Potter's magical signature acting up, so he didn't use magic, at least not consciously.

For a moment he narrowed his eyes at the boy before he too got his mask back in place.

"Mr. Snape." The officer named Benson said, getting off his chair, smiling and Snape nearly groaned. Did _all _those muggle police officers act so damn smiling? Had none of them the mind the aurors had? Being serious and strict?

"Officer Benson." Snape greeted back before gazing at Potter, motioning the boy over. "I hope the boy didn't cause too much trouble."

"Oh, but he didn't cause any trouble at all. We've just picked the boy up in the park, before he'd be harmed, Mr. Snape, that's all." Benson said and the Potions Master scowled. He did know this already! He'd been informed about this particular incident already thrice now.

Turning towards the boy he lifted his eyebrow before he addressed his _– _ 'son'.

"It is a rather unusual time for a young man such as yourself being outside, in the midst of London, the police department no less, while you actually should be laying in your bed at Spinner's End safely, do you not think so, Mr. Snape?" Well, two could play this game and he nearly smirked at the boy's surprised look.

Potter had gotten off his chair and was now standing there, eyeing him warily, but he didn't move and he narrowed his eyes at the bloody boy, watching him closely and noticing the guarded eyes and the carefully set face that was a perfect mask, one he knew from his Slytherins whenever they tried to hide something from him _– _ and one he was able to read perfectly well.

Again he narrowed his eyes, watching the boy close and he noticed the guarded eyes, the carefully set face and the taunt shoulders. The boy's face was a perfect mask, one he knew from his Slytherins _– _ and one he was able to read, yes. He however didn't like _what_ he could read there. The boy always had been a scrawny little whelp, but right now he was ridiculous thin and the hunger he could see in those damn green eyes was clearly visible, even for an idiot. How long had the brat been roaming through London? And why hadn't Dumbledore noticed anything? Hadn't the wards around the Dursleys' house fallen the moment the boy had left them? And why had he left the safety _– _and the comfort _–_ of the Dursleys' house anyway?

"I … uhm … yes, I think so … dad." The bloody idiot boy said still not moving closer to Snape and the Potions Master _– _ again _– _ had to call up every single one of his spying abilities to not killing the boy right here and now for his unbounded audaciousness. How could that boy dare!

But then he narrowed his eyes upon watching the pale face and he held himself still, nearly breathlessly, not wanting to frighten the boy more than he already was.

And he knew he _was_ frightened.

He was a spy, for Merlin's sake, and if he was not able to read a mask, then who would be? The fear was written over the pale and thin face in large red letters and the way he held himself implied that he was ready to bolt from the office at the first sign of danger. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Not only would it bring up strange questions as to why Potter would flee his _'own father'_, but it also would leave Potter running wild in London, in the middle of the night, unprotected and vulnerable to muggle criminals as well as wizarding criminals _– _ such as some remaining Death Eaters for example.

Without so much as blinking he slowly turned back towards Benson.

"If there is no paperwork to sign, then I would like to take my son home." He said. "It is late and the boy belongs into bed."

"Of course." Benson said. "Your son hasn't done anything wrong, Mr. Snape, so you can take him home immediately. Do you wish to press charges against the bullies that had cornered the boy?"

"Not now, officer." He said. "I will have to discuss this particular point with my son first."

"Very well, then you can take the boy home right now." Benson nodded at him.

"Harry." He said, slowly extending his hand towards the door, trying to keep all displeasure and irritation out of his face and voice while inwardly he cringed at the need for use of the idiot boy's given name, but well, it wouldn't do any good to either of them if he scared the boy into running right now and finally Potter came over to him, warily, slowly, his eyes never leaving him, and the moment he was close enough he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, not only to make sure the boy wouldn't bolt from the department the moment they left, but to …

To what?

To comfort the boy?

To comfort _Potter_ of all brats?

Sighing he noticed Potter flinching under the soft touch. It was the lightest of touches, barely qualifying as a grip of his shoulder, and yet he flinched. Sharply and instinctively he flinched under the touch and before he could cover up his reaction he drew in his breath sharply while every muscle in his body seemed to grow taunt with what the Potions Master clearly recognized as fear, as plain and instinctive, as primal fear.

Whatever had caused this fear, he knew _– _ _he _couldn't be the cause for it. The students feared him to some extend, yes, and he quite liked it that way, but no student was terrified of him to such a point and he didn't like the boy's reaction. Something was quite off. Something was quite wrong here.

"Good night." He said to the officer, not waiting for the man's reply and leading the boy out of the office, along the corridor and out of the police department. Still keeping his hand on the boy's shoulder slightly he shifted the hand so he could tighten his grip the moment Potter tried to flee upon leaving the building.

But Potter didn't flee. He allowed him to lead him down the road and into Willow Lane.

Well, he had two possibilities now. He either could lead the boy into Cabbage Alley and apparate him to Spinner's End _– _ or Privet Drive _– _ or he could use muggle transportation. But well, apparating them in the first place was out of question anyway. Potter was afraid enough as it was and there wasn't a way to predict how the boy would react to apparition, which he surely hadn't done before.

And Privet Drive? Something inside his sub-consciousness told him that Privet Drive was out of question too. Maybe the Dursleys would be worried sick, but somehow he knew that bringing the boy home right now was out of question. He always could call the Dursleys upon being home at Spinner's End.

Deciding to lead Potter into Cabbage Alley for now he went left and then stopped in a sideway near the beadhouse where he turned Potter to face him, glaring down at the boy.

"What in Merlin's name is the meaning of this, Potter?" He asked, his voice soft and calm but demanding, watching Potter taking a deep breath.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

He knew that it was now or never.

Why he had named Snape of all people as his parent in the first place was a riddle to him – and why Snape had actually answered the call and had then come to pick him up at the police even – well, that too was just another riddle to him. Why Snape had to have a telephone at all, he really didn't understand anymore. Snape was a wizard after all and he wasn't supposed to have a phone!

Well, he just should have run the moment he'd seen the police in the park. And he should have given a different name, maybe McGonagall's or better yet Mrs. Weasley's, because he knew that the Weasley's definitely didn't have a phone.

On the other hand – most likely he'd still be sitting there in Benson's office if he'd named someone they couldn't call, they surely wouldn't have let him just walk away.

He of course could ask Snape to just let him go – but knowing Snape he wouldn't. It surely would be a pleasure to Snape, taking him back to the Dursleys and watching him getting into trouble, the git.

Again – on the other hand – why had Snape partaken in the game to begin with instead of telling Benson that he wasn't his father? It wasn't like Snape, doing something like that, especially not if this something could help him, Harry Bloody Potter, most hated student in Snape's eyes. So why had Snape partaken in the game?

Again – most likely it was now or never so –

"Uhm … well … I just needed a place to stay, professor?" He said, not really sure what exactly he could say in this unlikeliest of all situations.

"If I remember correctly, Potter, and I am sure I do, then you already have a place to stay – namely your relatives." Snape growled at him angrily and he guessed that he was lucky that the Potions Master had not cut him into tiny little pieces to use him as potions ingredients yet.

"Well … the thing is … couldn't I just stay with you instead?" He asked on the spur of the moment, surprised, shocked at his own words, and well – if he was taking some of his last breaths in his life, then at least he would have a good show while watching Snape's face going first pale and then purple before a vein on his forehead would appear and then explode – the problem was, there was no such thing. Snape was as calm, collected and unreadable as always, as cold as stone.

"And having your relatives worrying to death over their beloved nephew being missed?" Snape drawled, his eyebrow raised. "I think not."

"As if they'd care." The boy huffed and the Potions Master sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They'd celebrate if I got killed by Voldemort tonight! And sure they didn't care when I left! They never did anyway, so what?"

"How melodramatic, Potter." He drawled. He hated emotional outbursts, but considering his own gut feeling and then the boy's words – so, in the end and after having taken a deep breath – he led the boy down the road and towards the next underground station that was only five minutes away.

For a moment there was the sound of two pairs of shoes hitting the pavement, and another moment later the alleyway was empty and silent except for a black cat hurrying along one of the houses before disappearing behind a hedge and the hooting of an owl, the only sound that disturbed the nightly silence. It could have been a red cat of course, or a brown cat, because in the darkness of the night one wouldn't have seen a difference anyway, but that wasn't important. It had been just a cat and now it was gone, like the two wizards were gone from the alleyway.

The Potions Master steered the boy into the tube that just arrived the moment they reached the platform and softly pushed him down into one of the many empty seats due to the late hour.

Sitting down opposite the boy he watched him closely, noticing that Potter did the same, namely watching him.

Potter's hands which he held in his lap trembled, as did the entire boy, and he frowned again. It was in the middle of July, and it wasn't cold, even though it was in the middle of the night.

The boy's face still was as pale as a ghost and in the dim light of the tube he looked even more thin – and ill.

The green eyes – what he could see of them underneath the carefully lowered lashes anyway – were darker than he remembered, dull somehow and empty. Well, not empty at all, but what he could observe in them was only fear, hunger, tiredness and – as strange as it was, pain.

Potter's clothes looked hideous, too large and with patched up holes. But they didn't look as if the boy had slept in London for the past two weeks. The boy however looked as if he hadn't eaten or slept for the past two weeks at all. So the question was – didn't the Dursleys feed the boy?

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Leading Potter along Spinner's End had been the same as leading him down the Department Road – the boy simply had allowed him to lead him wherever he pleased and he wondered why the boy had allowed him to.

Arriving at number seventy-one he unlocked his front door and then led Potter into the house, down the hallway and into the small kitchen. He knew that he would have to speak to the brat, but right now he knew the boy was hungry, he could read it in his eyes. Not to mention that the brat looked as if he hadn't eaten in quite some time.

Well, who had ever thought that he would have a Potter in his house one day, he huffed, and sitting at his kitchen table no less, but well, before _that_, he would have to make sure that the boy at least remembered to never doing such a stunt ever again. After all, he was able to punish the boy for real this time, not only with a few taken points which the brat didn't care about anyway – what his actions at school clearly showed – but with something he'd remember. And knowing that the bloody idiot boy surely wouldn't eat anything with the sentence of a punishment hanging over his head – and he didn't think that, despite what he at school always preached, Potter was stupid enough to believe he'd get away _without_ a punishment for a stunt like he'd done this evening – well, he knew that he'd better got this done and out of the way before any kind of meal, even though he knew that surely the boy wouldn't be able eating a regular meal right now – nor taking a good spanking what left him with the only option of giving a few lazy slaps only. The boy was thin, bony even, exhausted and scared. Whatever had happened to the brat it had clearly left some marks on the child.

"Come here." He growled at the little imp while pulling one of his kitchen chairs from the table and sitting down – and for once the bloody boy obeyed and came over to him leaving the doorway which he apparently had seen as a save refuge or something like that, standing there and looking lost – not one bit as boisterous as he did at school.

Harry at the same time _did_ feel as unsure as he looked, but knowing that he better obeyed the orders of an adult, he slowly went over to Snape, carefully, wondering why the man was sitting there and watching him so expectantly. At school Snape never sat down during a lecture, always kept standing there, intimidating and threateningly. He remembered that Snape only one time had sat down opposite him – for a short moment. It had been during his first potions lesson, and Snape had taken a stool from beneath the table of the front row and had then sat down, looking at him – nearly as expectantly as he did now. He hadn't been as scary back then as he had been during the remainder of the school-year, rather as if he were searching for something while he had watched him intently with his black eyes – whatever he had been searching for, he'd never found out.

And for the man taking such a harmless position as sitting down in front of him now, and while he, Harry, stood no less, _this_ was scary somehow.

Uncle Vernon was sitting down before giving Dudley a lecture – one of the very few lectures Dudley ever got – so, maybe …

A moment later he could feel Snape's fingers gripping his arms and pulling him down, and another moment later he found himself laying with his stomach over the man's knees, an action that had him gasping with shock while he could see the tiles of Snape's kitchen floor, grey tiles with a brown pattern – just before he could feel cool air on his behind, what made him realizing that the Potions Master must have magically pulled his trousers down and now he was … now he was laying over the man's knees with his bare behind!

"What …" He tried to gasp from his head-down position. "What are you … what are you doing?" Well, of course he knew what Snape would be doing, he wasn't stupid, after all, he knew from experience with uncle Vernon what Snape would be doing and he already prepared himself for the pain of he cane that would come – even though his uncle never beat him while he was over his lap – but it was one thing getting a beating on his bare behind from his own uncle, who was family, even though family he hated, or from Snape, a teacher, a stranger.

"I'm doing _that_, what I should have done on Halloween night when you went searching for a full grown mountain troll!" Snape said and a moment later he could already feel the man's hand coming down on his behind, the sharp pain accompanied by the sound of Snape's hand making contact with his bottom.

"Ouch … that … that hurts!" He gasped, reaching over to protect his stinging behind with his right hand, but a moment later the man had caught his wrist in a tight grip and had secured his hand in the small of his back, and horrified he noticed that with his left hand tucked between his own body and Snape, and with his right hand being trapped by Snape's hand, he was at the man's mercy, helplessly.

"It is _meant_ to hurt, you bloody imbecile, as it is meant to teach you a lesson!" Snape growled and already he could feel the next sting.

"You … you can't …" He gasped, trying to free his hands.

"Try me, Potter." Snape calmly said, increasing the grip he had on his wrist and the next slap had him yelping with the pain of it. "I can, and I will!"

"Ouch … but …" He gasped in shock. "But … I'm nearly twelve … you … I'm too old …"

"I don't care if you're twelve or twenty-two." Snape said, accompanied by another sharp slap, a harsher slap than the one before had been even and he nearly sobbed with the pain, trying to writhe out of the man's grip. "And now you better stop arguing with me if you want this finished anytime soon, Potter, you're in no position to bargain over your punishment. I should have done this at the beginning of last school year already, after you went searching for that bloody troll, and maybe then you would have learned enough self preservation to _not_ searching for that bloody stone at the end of the school year too – or to stroll through the castle grounds what gained you detention with Hagrid in the forbidden forest in the middle of the night what surely was anything than safe." Snape continued, followed by another sharp pain and he tried to get free, barely able to keep himself from crying with not only embarrassment but pain too.

"Do you realize that you could have died in either the devil's snare or any other of the protections which had been set up?" The man then asked, after another harsh blow. "Imagine you had died because of the potions riddle! Don't you think that I would have blamed myself for the remainder of my life for that then?"

Well, if he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that Snape had a point, and if he was honest with himself, then he also had to admit that surely Snape could place much more force into his beating, uncle Vernon surely always did, but at the moment he didn't want to be honest, because it just hurt. He was sure that it wouldn't hurt so much if he hadn't gotten a beating just this evening from his uncle, and a beating with the cane no less, but seeing that he had gotten one, it hurt like hell now.

Not to mention that Snape's words hurt.

Of course he _knew_ that Snape was right, but he'd so often wished someone telling him that he was worried over his well-being, he'd so long wished someone telling him to not doing dangerous stuff because he could be hurt, he'd so often wished someone telling him that – but he'd never had that, and he'd never – and now Snape was saying that and …

"Why would you care 'bout that!" He couldn't help saying, feeling the first tears of anger and pain stinging in his eyes. "You don't care anyway … you're just mean and happy to hurt us with anything!"

"I _do_ care, you idiot child!" Snape said and he couldn't help gasping for breath when he felt his chest clenching painfully at the man's words. "And I'm _not_ happy to hurt you either! But if it takes me a good spanking to teach you more self preservation than you have shown last year, then I will happily do this as I would like you seeing alive at the end of year seven instead of being killed by either trolls or any other creature you might be eager to meet!"

Well, by these words he couldn't help crying for real.

Snape cared!

Stopping his struggling he went limp over the man's lap, allowing his tears to run free for once, even though he hadn't cried for years, and he didn't even notice that the harsh blows had stopped.

"Will you do such a foolish thing as going after any kind of dangerous creature again, Potter?" Severus asked, sighing at the tears Potter spilled after a few slaps only, but well, not only had the boy never gotten a real spanking as it seemed, seeing that he was unable handling this few lazy slaps without an emotional breakdown, but also had he known that the boy would be able to take much. He looked too tiny and too weak, and again he wondered why. Why was the boy so weak and thin? And so exhausted? How long had he roamed London alone? Why had neither Albus nor the Dursleys raised an alarm when the boy had run away?

"N-no … please, I'm sorry …" The boy sobbed and he sighed again, shaking his head. That had been barely ten lazy slaps, after all. Well, yes, he'd given them on the boy's bare behind, but his cheeks hadn't even reddened.

"You promise, Potter?" He asked, waving his hand and re-dressing the boy, pulling him up from his lap and then standing him before him on his feet, his hands on the idiot child's wrists – where the boy stood, crestfallen and smaller than he'd ever seen him, a pitying picture for even him and he scowled at himself.

"P-promise." The boy sobbed, and he nodded his head.

"Well, then come here, you silly child." He growled, getting up from the chair, ready to comfort the boy. He was the head of a house for many years now and even though he didn't punish his snakes in public, the punishment he handed out in privacy to his own students was much severe than the punishment he bestowed upon the other houses. In other words, there had been one or another snake that had found his way over his lap during the years and he knew, after a spanking the child needs to know that he's forgiven, needs the comfort of an embrace, needs to know that he was still loved, that he wasn't abandoned and thrown away.

Not that he loved Potter, surely not, that boy was a nuisance, a troublemaker, a pain in the arse and just like his father had been – but anyway, the child needed just as much comfort in a situation like this than any other child.

Instead of coming close however, the boy looked up at him, startled, the tear stained face looking scared even and with an annoyed sigh he simply reached out and pulled the boy close before folding his arms over the bony form, scowling at how thin the boy was, his fingers feeling each rib and vertebra while rubbing circles over the shaking boy.

He also could feel the boy going tense beneath his hands the moment he pulled him close and with a shaking of his head he realized that the boy feared his punishment weren't over yet.

"Hush, child." He sighed while tightening the embrace. "It's over and you are forgiven, so calm down now."

A moment later he had a still and motionless Potter looking up at him, startled and even holding his breath while watching him with overly large eyes unbelievingly before – he had a sobbing and crying child clinging to him desperately a moment later.

Forgiven!

He was forgiven!

Never before had anyone forgiven him!

He couldn't help crying like a three year old, because it felt so very good and so very better even, and so very best … being forgiven, feeling free, he felt as if the world had stopped turning before turning again … he felt – light!

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"Sit." Severus said, pushing the boy into one of the chairs at the table, ignoring the sharp hiss that came from Potter the moment his surely still stinging behind made contact with the hard wood of the chair, and then he turned towards the stove, preparing a light soup. He took a glass filled it with clear water and brought it over to the boy.

Merlin, really!

The boy's first spanking and he'd been the one having to do this job! And that bloody idiot child had acted as if it had been the end of the world even!

Turning back to the stove he got his attention back at the soup while watching the boy out of the corner of his eyes. Potter eyed the water but didn't drink. He didn't say anything until he had the soup ready and brought it over to the boy together with a slice of white bread and placed both in front of the – nearly twelve year old, together with a spoon. Then he sat himself opposite the boy with a cup of tea.

He watched Potter sitting there, watched the boy who eyed the soup warily and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Potter eyed him, eyed the soup, eyed him again, as if he wasn't sure if he were allowed to eat. But why would the boy think so? He could see the longing gazes Potter regarded the food with while he could see the scared gazes the boy cast towards _him_, as if he truly and honestly were afraid he would be punished for taking the _food_.

"The soup is for you and meant to be eaten, Mr. Potter." Snape ordered. "I know you must be hungry, and the soup is getting cold."

The boy warily picked up his spoon and started eating. He watched the boy starting to carefully test the waters before starting to wolf down the soup and the bread and he had to admit, he was startled.

He was about to say something, but realizing that Potter had longed for the food while he had been afraid he wouldn't be allowed to eat it, he didn't say anything and just watched the boy with a dark scowl on his face, wondering about the child's reaction.

Harry had known that he had been hungry, but he hadn't realized _how_ hungry he was until he took the first spoon full and then he couldn't stop wolfing the soup down, nearly forgetting that Snape was sitting opposite him. Damn, if the man punished him later for taking the food, then be it, as long as he could eat it now. It wasn't anything that would have been served at Hogwarts, nor was it as much as he'd get at Hogwarts either, but he wasn't a picky eater. He couldn't afford to be. He had to eat whatever was available, whether or not it tasted good. It was a survival skill, and one Harry had learned very early on.

Not to mention that at the latest last year during the welcome feast at Hogwarts he had learned that he wouldn't be able to stomach much more than what he had right now anyway, and this here was the first warm meal he had in weeks, since he'd left Hogwarts.

He somewhere in the back of his mind was wondering why Snape didn't just send him back to the Dursleys, why he had taken him to his home and why he had given him something to eat in the first place. But right now he didn't really care. Right now he had something to eat and right now that was just more important, he didn't care about anything else right now.

The Potions Master on the other hand still watched the boy and at the greedy way the boy devoured the food with, his frown deepened. The boy not only had pulled the bowl closer and had placed one arm around the bowl, as if protecting it from being taken away, a gesture that _screamed "mine!", _but he also had turned his upper body slightly as if to protect the food bodily from being taken away.

While at the same time Potter eyed him wearily every now and then and the thought that had come to his mind earlier, the question if the Dursleys hadn't fed the boy, came back with full force and he realized that the answer definitely was not a simple no. The boy looked as if he hadn't just been denied food. He acted as if he had been _punished _for eating while living with the Dursleys.

He knew the reactions of neglected children. And of abused children. And Potter definitely was showing …

Again he huffed. He had been so sure that the brat was pampered and treated like a prince by his relatives, that he got everything he wanted, that he would be allowed everything. The truth seemed to be that the brat not even got fed by them. And if he didn't get fed by them, then there surely were more things he was neglected with.

His clothes for example, he couldn't help thinking.

And sleep.

The boy looked tired beyond any limits, he looked ready to drop where he was sitting, falling asleep at the table right now and probably the only thing that kept him awake was the food he right now was wolfing down.

He could observe Potter getting slower even though the bowl wasn't emptied halfway and he guessed that the boy's stomach simply was too small from starvation – and suddenly he remembered that the boy never had been eating much at Hogwarts either, not even as much as some of the girls. He never had thought about it, but now? And only Merlin knew when he had …

"When was the last time you have eaten anything, Mr. Potter?" He couldn't help asking.

The reaction he got was so telling, it was like reading a book about neglected and abused children.

The moment he had asked the question Potter's body stiffened visibly, the spoon lay on the table beside the bowl as if he had been caught doing something forbidden and the boy had his eyes downcast at his hands that were folded in his lap, playing with the hem of his shirt as there was no tablecloth which he could have been playing with. He however managed a whispered "breakfast" before looking even more guiltily – for lying, he knew.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in I am here you silly child**

_The dead visiting the living and a wizard visiting some muggles to witness death …  
_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be very grateful if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you …

**House cup: **

Sorry, I've accidentally posted an old house cup result, my apology for that - at the present time it looks like this:

755 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

746 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

673 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Arithmancy Master

371 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife


	3. where the feet meet the road

**Title:**

I am here you silly child

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Summer after first year

**Summary:**

AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department, being informed that he could pick up his son at the police station – the problem is – he does not have a son …

**Disclaimer: **

Well … I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hogwarts, his friends or his belongings … J. K. Rowling owns them all … I don't even own Severus Snape – regrettably … Rowling owns him too …

What however doesn't mean that I can't borrow him … as one of my readers once said – a Snape to cuddle in a box *gg* …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … also please note that the last chapter, chapter two, has been changed …

******Please note** the announcement at the end of this chapter, just before the house cup

**Warning:**

Story will contain references to child abuse.

This chapter _does_ contain child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been mistreated.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in I am here you silly child**

_He could observe Potter getting slower even if the bowl wasn't empty and he guessed that the boy's stomach simply was too small from starvation and suddenly he remembered that the boy never had been eating much at Hogwarts either, not even as much as some of the girls. He never had thought about it, but now? And only Merlin knew when he had … _

_"When was the last time you have eaten anything, Mr. Potter?" He couldn't help asking._

_The reaction he got was so telling, it was like reading a book about neglected children. _

_The moment he had asked the question Potter's body stiffened visibly, the spoon lay on the table beside the bowl as if he had been caught doing something forbidden and the boy had his eyes downcast on his hands that were folded in his lap, playing with the hem of his shirt as there was no tablecloth which he could have been playing with. He however managed a whispered "breakfast" before looking even more guiltily – for lying._

**I am here you silly child**

**Chapter three **

**Were the feet meet the road**

He had let it slip, Potter's lie, even though he wouldn't do so normally, but he did so right now, knowing that he had to get the brat to sleep what surely would be a task impossible if he startled and wound the boy up. He would deal with it in the morning and so he right now was leading Potter along the hallways.

He had pulled the book of Venenatus from the bookshelf in the corner of the kitchen the moment Potter apparently had been finished eating, and the bookshelf had slid aside, allowing them entry and he had led the boy through, Potter gaping in wonder as if he never before had seen magic.

Merlin, Hogwarts had moving staircases, trapdoors and guarding paintings, so why would a bookshelf sliding aside and revealing a long corridor behind it startle the boy? Maybe it was the large place that startled the boy as from the outside the house had looked really small, but even at such a thing the Hogwarts student should be used to by now.

He had led the boy along the hallway, his hand around Harry's upper arm, then up a large flight of stairs and down another hall lined with portraits that peered eagerly out from their frames and discussed the new arrival at Snape Castle in hushed whispers.

He sneered at the brat glancing at the portraits which looked down at him as if he had never seen moving portraits either, even though they were placed at every wall and corner at Hogwarts, moving and speaking portraits. One elderly woman shook her head when Harry passed.

"What have you brought home now, Severus." She called out. "You need to clean him up first, really, and that hair of his, I tell you, this boy is going to be trouble."

"Please tell me something I don't know yet, Amanda." Snape snapped at the picture that tutued at him.

Snape's grip was not painful around Harry's arm, but tight and commanding as he steered the boy into a dark room.

He pointed his wand at the fireplace and a moment later dancing flames hushed over the wood, immediately warming the cold room and spending light, and another flick of Snape's wand lit the candles attached to the wall beside the door and on a large desk before turning to Harry who was looking around unsurely.

"There is a bathroom attached to this chamber, Potter, please take a quick shower, brush your teeth and attend to your other vespertine needs." He said, hoping that the boy would not make a fuss. "You will find all you need in the shelves, hurry up, I expect you back here in ten minutes."

"But I …" The idiot boy said, crying again and he sighed.

"Hush, Potter." He said before taking a deep breath. "Just prepare for bed."

"I … I didn't mean to bother you …" The boy now right-out sobbed and he didn't understand the emotional outburst, his only explanation being that Potter had to be very much overtired if he had so little control over himself. "And I can go back to the streets … I …"

"I said hush." Snape said, frowning at the boy's words. "The only thing you will be doing tonight is sleeping."

Harry didn't really understand the situation – but he was simply too tired to think much of it and the thought of a bed he could sleep in instead of a bench in the park, it was just too inviting – and so he did as he was told and went to the bathroom. The candles on the wall to either side of the door flared up into a soft light the moment he opened the door, casting their light into a bathroom that was held in soft brown colours mixed with soft blue. There was a large bathtub made of brown stone or something similar, like the shower, the loo and the sink, and he would love it to take a long and hot bath, but Snape had told him to take a shower and so Harry quickly pulled off his dirty clothes and stepped into it, turning on the water. For a moment he sighed with relief when jets of hot water were drumming on his sore muscles, a feeling he hadn't felt in weeks, but then he reminded himself that he better hurried up instead of gawking and losing time with enjoying the hot water.

Quickly he stepped out of the shower, dried himself with the softest towel he ever had held in his hands – not even aunt Petunia had so soft towels – and then he reached for a pair of dark green pyjamas that had suddenly materialized – after that he couldn't help feeling exhaustion washing over him, the past few days or weeks – he didn't know which – finally taking its toll on him.

Well, he knew that he couldn't give in to that, and he better went out of the bathroom and into the chamber Snape had led him in – and where the Potions Master already was waiting for him. The man was already standing beside a very large bed and pulling back the covers, and he couldn't help gawking at the Potions Master, wondering why the man would accept him at his home instead of bringing him back to the Dursleys and then giving him such a nice room with such a nice bed instead of locking him in a cupboard or this place's dungeons. Well, alright, he'd _asked_ the man to take him, sure, but that had been an act of desperation and surely – he hadn't thought that Snape would really do that, he'd rather expected the man to sneer at him and to then hand him over to the Dursleys, enjoying the beating he'd get.

Well, he'd gotten one from Snape instead, even though it had been nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what his uncle …

"Get into that bed finally, Potter, you look ready to drop any moment." Snape said and he looked at the man for a moment before blinking and then quickly obeying, even though he was wondering what exactly he was doing here. Damn, if he told Ron about that, that he'd slept at Snape's home, Ron would surely ask him if he were suicidal.

"Potter!" Snape growled and he hurried to oblige, not ready for yet another punishment.

Quickly he climbed into the overly large bed and sat back against the wall nervously, expecting anything to happen, expecting Snape to cast a spell at him, to hex him or anything similar. But again, nothing happened and Snape only reached a mug with hot, steaming liquid in it over at him, wordlessly, only lifting his eyebrow when he looked inside, trying to make out what it was, just to make sure that it wouldn't be poison or any other potion that would do funny stuff with him, at least funny for Snape.

"Potter." Said man warned, frowning down at him and never mind what it was inside, Harry prepared himself for the worst and then took a deep sip of the drink before the man could give him a second beating. Frowning he realized that it was not a potion that would render him to a spider or something else Snape could use in a potion but steaming hot milk with honey only, but then he took another sip. He frowned again when he noticed that the milk was actually good and not the rotten remnants he'd gotten from aunt Petunia when he'd been younger, and then he quickly drank all of it.

The milk tasted of fennel or something like that and it was very creamy and great. He was nearly unhappy when Snape simply took the mug back with an expression on his face as stony and as unreadable as always, and he let out a long, trembling breath at the tiredness that overwhelmed him.

"Stop fussing and lay down." Snape ordered and again he obeyed immediately, lay on his side and with his back to the wall so that he could watch the Potions Master – just in case that the man would pull out some torturing instruments. He'd like to hug the pillow to his chest, just for protection, but he didn't dare moving too much in front of Snape, and he didn't dare taking the pillow from where it was beneath his head either, who knew, maybe Snape would take it away if he did.

A moment later however the man was pulling the covers up and over his shoulders, providing him with this kind of protection so that he wouldn't need to hug the pillow anymore, and with another sigh of relief he allowed his eyes to drop. He'd been so worried where he could be sleeping, but now, at least for tonight he had a bed, and what a soft bed no less. And tomorrow, well, he'd see what tomorrow would bring, he'd long ago learned to take one day at a time. And today had at least ended better than all the days before, even though it was Snape, the Potions Master, who'd – who'd tucked him in? Well, at least _that_ he better didn't tell Ron.

"I won't cut you into potions ingredients during the night, and so try to relax and sleep, Potter." Severus said, his eyes watching his unexpected guest. "Tomorrow morning during breakfast we will discuss your near future, but for now I expect you to for once following an instruction without disobedience and sleep – or at least stay in this room."

"Yes, sir." The boy whispered and he huffed at the futile attempt of keeping his eyes open. He had known that the brat wouldn't last long after being in bed and with a "good night, Potter" he extinguished the candles with a flick of his wrist, the only light now coming from the small flames in the fireplace. He would have Zilly looking for the fire tonight.

"N'ght." The boy murmured barely audible anymore and with another huff he turned and went into the bathroom.

He didn't know why Potter had asked him to take him home with him instead of bringing him to the Dursleys, and would he watch it from a legal viewpoint, then he should have brought the boy back to the Dursleys immediately, or at least to Dumbledore. But somehow – he knew what it meant if a child asked a teacher for a place to sleep instead of being brought home, he had the very same question at least once every year, and so he had taken him here, knowing that anything else he could arrange later, knowing that he first had to speak with Petunia before he would decide anything else. He at least would have a serious word with her concerning her care about the boy, Potter was Lily's child, after all, and Lily was Petunia's sister, after all. She should care a bit more about her sister's child as she seemed doing recently.

Scowling at not only the woman but at his own concern when it came to Potter, he opened the door to the bathroom to clear the mess the boy surely had created, but with a frown he noticed that not only there wasn't a mess, but the bathroom was clean too, the shower wiped dry as well as the sink and nowhere was any sign that there had been a guest in here. For a moment he even cast a dark glance at the door before he shook his head. The brat had not lied to him, he had taken a shower, he'd been wet when coming out of the bathroom after all.

But why would the boy clean up after himself? He'd never had a guest who'd do that, not even Draco whenever he'd visited him over the holidays and he'd always expected of his godson to keep his room clean himself instead of bothering the house elves.

Leaving the bathroom he looked through the clothes the boy had put on the chair between the desk and the wall, and with another dark scowl he simply discarded them before taking some of the clothes from the wardrobe. He'd always stored a few clothes in the cupboards of his guest rooms, just in case, because you never knew when you had an unexpected guest that was in need of just such – like he had right now – and looking over the boy – well, as unexpected as it had been, he couldn't help chuckling at the realization that not only had the boy done a real stunt in naming _him_ of all people as his father in front of the police, but also – he had startled the boy by partaking in the game.

Shrinking the clothes so that they would fit the idiot child he huffed while watching the brat breathing evenly in his sleep, but again he wondered – how was it that the brat was so bloody small and thin? Sighing in his sleep the boy drew himself into a tighter little ball, hugging the pillow to himself which he hadn't dared while being awake and he scowled down at the little imp before he extended his hand to run his fingers over the pale face in a calming manner, hoping that the action would dispel any fears the boy seemed to suffer from in his sleep – and what a miracle, the bloody little imp seemed to really calm down, taking a deep and shuddering breath in his sleep before actually relaxing beneath his fingers.

Pulling his hand back quickly he straightened his shoulders, proudly and then turned before he strolled out of the room, fleeing the brat before he could do something stupid which he'd rue later on. He'd make sure that the boy got breakfast tomorrow morning and then he'd bring him back to Petunia – and he would have a serious word with her while meeting her.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Walking along the corridor, away from the side where the entrance to Spinner's End was and towards the side where the main house of the castle met the large yard with the gates and the park, he already frowned, feeling that something was strange, that something was not the way it should be.

Well, of course there was something that was not the way it should be!

He had Potter in his house, Potter, of all people! So yes, there was something very, _very_ wrong indeed, but that was not what he could be feeling coming from the very castle itself. It was the very same feeling as he had during Halloween, as every person who had lost a very, very close person, could feel during Halloween, even muggles. Though, the muggles rarely recognized the feeling as something to connect with the ghosts of the dead.

For a moment he stopped, looking through one of the many windows in the long corridor and his dark eyes went distant, while he remembered other times, remembered people lost long years ago, Lily, Jennifer, Eliot – they all had been taken from him many years ago. The gardens he could see from here were in their full bloom, green grass surrounded by cobblestone paths, different flowers growing along the narrow ways. Vines were growing over the gates leading to the gardens, as well as along the castle walls.

It was a beautiful place for a child to grow up.

Knowing that there couldn't be a connection started by him when it was not Halloween eve he turned away from the slim window, abruptly. He had a few things to care for before he went to bed and first thing tomorrow morning he would have to get Potter back to his relatives.

Reaching the end of the corridor and descending the stairs he reached the lower part of the castle, the old house that was number seventy-one, Spinner's End and then entered the entrance hall, approached the side table. He took the receiver from the old telephone and waving his wand at the bloody thing the phone dialled the Dursleys' number. How fortunate if you knew how to combine magic with muggle technology.

"Dursley." A voice he clearly recognized as Tuney's answered his call.

"Good evening, Mrs. Dursley, Snape here." He said, hoping that the woman wouldn't recognize his last name yet. He hated the telephone and he didn't wish having a discussion of any kind through the bloody muggle thing. "I just wished to inform you about your nephew being here …"

"This has to be a misunderstanding, sir." Petunia said, and he frowned.

"You are Mrs. Petunia Dursley, aren't you?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the telephone. Maybe the bloody thing had not worked correctly with his spell – even though he was sure he had recognized that shrill voice.

"Of course I am." Petunia snapped at him. "You're calling my home, don't you?"

"Well, in this case I hereby do inform you that at the present moment young Mr. Potter is at my home, asleep." He growled at the receiver. "He apparently was wandering London a couple of hours ago, alone."

"So, you've found the little runaway!" Petunia huffed. "He just left our house, without a reason, and without finishing his chores even, the little freak!"

"Yes, he ended up at –" Snape was about to say _'at the police station'_ but furrowed his brows for a moment. "– my home, a bit unexpected, but I got the impression that he was hoping I would keep him, from your tone I take it you wouldn't be too sorry if I did?"

"I don't care!" Petunia nearly screeched into his ear. "When I found this little whelp on my doorsteps ten years ago, I knew that there'd be trouble and I didn't ask for him. I should have drowned him like the dirty little whelp he was, and still is! Nothing but trouble has he caused since he's been born!"

"I see." Snape answered, his face blank even though Petunia wouldn't be able to see him. At least he now could be sure that the woman not only really didn't care, but that also she actually hated the boy too.

"I took that little brat in, against my husband's wishes and against her sister's advises because he is family." Petunia continued, ignoring his cold tone. "And since then he's done nothing than eating our good food, taking up our space and time, and neglecting his duties. He's not the only boy in this household, you know? I do have another chlid to think about, my own son, and that whelp is causing harm to my son."

"I see." Snape repeated. "My apology for the late evening disturbance. If I could visit to gather Mr. Potter's school supplies and other belongings …"

"If you insist, but hurry up." Petunia sighed. "I have other things to attend to than the brat's freak-things."

"Very well, I shall be over in a moment." He said before putting the receiver back and taking a deep breath.

"Zilly." He then called for his house elf and a moment later there was a soft _'pop'_, indicating the small creature popping into the hall. "Please do have an eye on Mr. Potter while I am gone, Zilly." He said, taking the jacket from the wardrobe, just like a few hours ago when he had left to visit the London police department. "I will be back as soon as possible, but should I not be back by tomorrow morning, then please do make sure that Potter takes a shower, gets acceptable clothes and a healthy breakfast. Do keep him busy in the library until my return then."

"Of course Master Snape." The house elf said and he inclined his head.

"Severus." A soft voice came from behind him and freezing he turned, becaue he knew that voice, knew that it was Lily's voice. And now he knew the feeling that had crept down his spine earlier – it had been the arrival of Lily, of Lily's ghost. But why now? After all these years?

Never in all these years had Lily answered his calls during Halloween, never ever before, only Jennifer.

He knew, and he always had known, that Eliot wouldn't answer, because Eliot was too young still, the boy was a child still, even yet, was just evelen now, and he couldn't visit the land of the living yet. But Jennifer had visited, each year on Halloween she had visited for a few minutes, had given him heaven for a few minutes, had given him a reason to still live, to still exist, to still breathe – and to still hope, even though this hope had vanished bit by bit recently. But never Lily.

And now Lily was here – and it wasn't even halloween.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

"Lily?" He asked, nearly choked out and he wasn't sure if his knees would be strong enough to carry his weight.

What was she doing here? Was Lily here because of Harry? Because she knew that Harry was in his house?

"You have failed my son, Severus." Lily softly said, calmly, and nevertheless he could hear the disappointment in her voice. "You are not the only one, everyone has failed my son, but I have thought that at least _you_, for our friendship, would watch over my child. I could not expect much of Sirius and Remus, nor of Albus, but I expected _you _to watch over my child, and if only for the friendship we shared."

"I _have_ watched over him, Lily." He answered, frowning.

He didn't know if he should be angry or if he should be sad. He _should_ be angry, he knew, because Lily was accusing him of something he had not committed, he _had_ watched over the brat – but at the same time he _couldn't_ be angry, at the same time he just felt sad because there was Lily, his Lily, his friend, the one person who had stood at his side never mind what, the only other person beside of Jennifer, the only person he ever had called his friend, and he couldn't be angry.

"I _have_ watched over him." He said. "I have watched over him from the moment on he arrived at Hogwarts, Lily. I have kept him safe even though he attracts trouble at every turn he takes and right now he is sleeping in my guest chamber because I don't want him out there in the middle of the night."

"I know, Severus." Lily answered. "What is the reason as to why I am not angry with _you_. But that is not what I meant. No one has cared about my son before he came to Hogwarts."

And there was something else he realized just then – namely that Potter, that Harry Potter, was not only James Potter's son, but Lily's too. The boy he had laying in his guest chamber, sleeping, was Lily's child too, something he had forgotten, or had _wanted _to forget.

"But there was no need to watch over the boy before that." He answered, frowning. "He has been placed with Tuney and her husband."

"And that is what worried me, Severus." Lily answered. "You do remember how much my sister hated magic, Severus, don't you?"

And suddenly he understood.

Of course – the boy running away from the Dursleys, rather giving the police his, Snape's, name than his aunt's, even though he surely had known that no one messed around with the Potions Master, then coming with him willingly, being starved and small and bony, tired. Suddenly he understood and he cast a thoughtful gaze into the direction of the castle where the boy's chamber was situated.

"Lily?" He asked, again, just to get confirmation.

And suddenly he also knew for sure that the boy really couldn't go back to them, nor to Dumbledore, knew that the boy would have to stay at Snape Castle, at least for the summer.

"If not for the influence my core has within my son, Harry would not have survived until now, wouldn't even have lived through the first seven years of his life." Lily softly whispered and he frowned again, shuddering in the warm evening breeze. "Go there, Severus. Go, and I will show you his past, so that you can see the torment that has been his life for years. And I do not ask you to, I expect you to, Severus, I expect you to, because I have sacrificed my own life for my son to live even though he is not my flesh. It is an order for you, Severus, because in the end everyone was saved by him, but at the cost of my child, while no one had saved him. I had thought my son would be taken care of. I had thought that _you _would take care of my child."

"You are right, Lily." He softly said, knowing that the woman was _indeed_ right.

Of course he could argue with her, about him having saved the boy's sorry behind last year when his broom had been hexed, about watching him during the school year, about worrying when it had been clear he had met a troll, about being angry at the boy for risking his neck in that bloody chamber of the pillars where Dumbledore had hidden away the even more bloody stone of Flamell.

He also could argue with her about Albus telling him the boy was safe with his family, with his aunt and uncle, and with his cousin, a boy his age with whom he could grow up like a brother. He could argue with her about caring enough to not wanting the boy dead.

But all his arguments were worth nothing, and he knew it, because Lily was perfectly right – they all had been saved by the boy, even he, but no one had saved _him_.

"You are right." He softly repeated. "I am on my way to the Dursleys anyway to retrieve the boy's things. I wouldn't have let him back there during the holidays anyway."

Two and a half minutes late Lily had vanished, had gone back to where she had come from, wherever that was, and he was leaving his entrance hall, was descending the stairs that led to the foreyard of the castle to apparate to Privet Drive in Little Whinging while he had four little words in his mind, whispered by a vanishing Lily, which he didn't understand.

"See to your child."

He would rather like to go to bed and to cover himself with the thickest blanket he owned, just to conserve the moment, Lily being there, just to burn it into his mind, to dream of it on and on, like he always did after Jennifer had come on Halloween – but he knew that this would be foolish, that it would be weak – and that it would be wrong. He had an eleven year old boy in his guest chamber, he had to visit the Dursleys, he had to act instead of hiding away.

He'd never been a person to hide away in times of stress or depression, had always acted and tried to solve the things around him. Work, was the drug that kept him from thinking too much and getting into even more depressions.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Most people upon having apparated stopped still upon reaching their destination, needing a moment to concentrate and stop their forwards momentum, needed a moment to get themselves under control again as apparition wasn't the most pleasant experience to begin with.

Most people also stopped their steps to initiate apparition, needing a moment to concentrate and to prepare themselves for not only the direction they wanted to take, but for the distance, for the place they would re-appear in, for the speed of movement and of course for the magic they needed. There was need of some sense of orientation.

However, Severus Snape did not take a moment before starting his apparition. He walked on while initiating his transportation without a moment to stop and gather himself, vanishing in the midst of his steps. And neither did he take a moment to stop and recover upon appearing at his destiny, his feet meeting the road and taking over in his steps from where they had left upon apparition as if not a yard was between both locations and so he appeared at Privet Drive a moment after he had left Spinner's end, walking along Privet Drive without any hesitation until he reached number four.

He turned into the driveway of number four and then finally stopped at the Dursley's front door, knocked at the wooden entrance.

It took a moment until Petunia opened the door, but then there she stood, Petunia Dursley, nee Evans, the woman that was Harry Potter's aunt, the aunt of the boy he had sleeping in his guest chamber currently, Lily's sister, the woman that had hated Lily for her magic and apparently hated Lily's child just as much for _his_ magic.

He remembered that Petunia never had been too friendly – but she never had out-right _hated_ Lily – until her eleventh birthday and being admitted to Hogwarts. He even remembered that Petunia as the older of the two had loved her sister deeply, very, very deeply indeed, but that she had been so scared and frustrated over the separation … he knew that Tuney even had sent a letter to Albus, asking for permission to be admitted at Hogwarts too.

Tuney had not liked him, for his magic, she'd been scared of him, but she had accepted it and in the beginning she often had been with Lily and him, roaming Spinner's End and the playground near Little Whinging, roaming the streets of muggle London secretly, despite their parents' wishes – and it had been fun.

Until, yes, well, until Lily had gotten her letter.

Everything had changed after that.

And now there was a bitter woman standing in front of him, her sharp outlines looking at him in disdain and anger and he could detect no friendliness in anything she displayed.

"I am here for Mr. Potter's belongings." He said.

"Of course you are." Petunia sneered at him, shoving the boy's trunk into his direction, out of the house, and throwing a backpack at him which he caught – with a frown before he narrowed his eyes at the woman angrily.

"That is all?" He asked, his voice cold. "That is everything the boy owns?"

"Of course it is." Petunia sneered and he sneered back at her, his eyes going cold too.

"Very well." He said, waving his wand and shrinking both, the backpack and the trunk, putting both into his pocket while he entered the house. "I am however not finished here."

It was clear that Petunia had intended on handing Potter's things over to him without having him in the house – but he had something to do here, he had a promise to keep here, namely to allow Lily to show him whatever it was she wanted him to see and so he entered, against Petunia's wishes, ignoring her screetches and her cursing.

A moment later there was a bright lightning in the house and then everything was still while at the same time he knew – he was in a memory, he was in the house's memory, the house providing him with the information Lily wanted him to know and he accepted the situation, allowed the house to lead him.

There were sounds coming from a room ahead and he walked along the hallway and then entered, watching a family of three during what apparently was lunch, Petunia and two children. It was however the difference in the children that had him frowning. One child was sitting in a high chair at the table, even though he wondered how the child might have gotten into the high chair as he was big and fat, and he wasn't sure about the age but guessed that the boy might be two and a half or three years old. The other boy however was sitting on the floor beneath the table, a scrawny little thing with a pale face and thin, trembling fingers, awkwardly picking up food from the floor, and this boy rather looked as if he were a year old only, or a year and a few months at the most. Yet, he knew that one child had to be Dudley Dursley and one Harry Potter, and he even knew which child was who – what had him startled was the knowledge that both children should be the same age.

What also had him startled was Dudley Dursley being fed roasted potatoes with sausages and vegetables, even though the boy didn't like the vegetables, while the child on the floor was eating a piece of potato the other boy had thrown down at the floor, or a piece of broccoli Petunia had thrown down with a disgusted face at Potter, the boy under the table eating what was thrown at him silently while the other boy screamed and made a fuss about everything he was fed with except the sausages.

A moment later the kitchen was emptied and listening to some noise from a room beside the kitchen he turned, entering what clearly seemed to be the living room.

It seemed to be Christmas and both boys seemed to be older now, Dudley Dursley looking as if he were four or five years old while Potter looked as if he were – one and a half or two years. He had barely grown since he had last seen him just a moment ago in the kitchen. The boy was sitting in a corner of the room, watching while his cousin unwrapped package over package with toys and clothes and games, with sweets and other things and he could see the longing gaze Potter watched the scene with. He watched Vernon Dursley pulling Potter's hair, pulling him up from the floor and throwing him into the middle of the room, screaming at him that he better cleaned up the mess of wrapping paper before he would lose his patience and give the boy his Christmas present early.

For a moment he wondered what that could mean, why Dursley would give Potter his Christmas present later in the day, but then the scene again changed and the first thing he could hear was screaming. It was still Christmas, the same Christmas, as the same toys and games were laying around the room, but it was much later in the day, due to the dark windows late evening already and Dudley Dursley was nowhere in sight. Nor was Petunia, but he was sure that the woman was not far, most likely in the kitchen.

What however shocked him was – Dursley had Potter kneeling over a stool in the middle of the room, naked and with his stomach laying over the wooden seat of the stool, and he was swinging a cane down at the boy forcefully, causing angry colorful and even bleeding welts, therefore eliciting the screams he had heard while he himself was roaring at the writhing child that tried to get away, demanding that he better not left the stool, demanding that he thanked him for his Christmas present, the cane, that it was meant to be a constant reminder about his place, that it was meant as special lesson to never be forgotten and he was sure that Dursley had succeeded this night.

Again the scene changed and he could see Dursley throwing the crying body of the boy, the very same boy, his back being covered in angry and partly bleeding welts, into a cupboard, into the cupboard under the stairs and suddenly he understood the address on Potter's letter he had seen upon visiting Minerva during the summer holidays in her office and watching her addressing the envelopes for the children's first letters, Potter's being addressed to "the cupboard under the stairs". He watched Dursley locking the cupboard with not only the bar of the lock but with a key too.

Another change in the scene showed him the door of the cupboard and for a moment he frowned – until he heard sobbing and begging, weak screams and softly, very softly, he could make out scratching, and he shuddered, his gaze wandering at the calendar that hung to the wall, a calendar that had not been there a moment before, but the calendar showed that it apparently was the 29th of December, 1983 and he paled. They surely hadn't kept the boy in there for – four days!

A short scene, one that was bleary and milky somehow, showed him a child, a small and scrawny little thing that didn't look like the three and a half years he should be but like a year, as if he hadn't grown at all since arriving at the Dursleys. But that was not what shocked him the most. No. Because what shocked him the most was the child laying on the floor, scratching at the edges of the door over and over again, weakly, while sobbing and crying, while begging for anything, the thin and bony fingers bleeding, and he immediately knew that – the boy _had_ been indeed in there for the four days since Christmas evening, without food, and another quick gaze through the cupboard filled with shelves that held cleaning solutions and one or another canister with he didn't know what, it made him shudder at the thought of what the child might have been drinking during these four days.

The scene changed again even before he could think over it more closely, showing a Dudley Dursley that clearly was about nine years old, or even ten, he really couldn't be sure about it, coming home from his primary school and throwing his school bag at a much smaller boy that looked like maybe – Merlin! Potter looked as if being two years old, like being three at the very most and startling thin, frightening thin, nearly falling upon the impact Dursley's schoolbag had on the boy while the fat boy screamed at him to _'bring my bag into my room but don't you dare touching anything, freak'_ and immediately Potter obeyed. In the meantime Petunia had appeared, hugging her 'Duddikins' and telling him that she'd had the freak making his favorite lunch.

The next scene was about a Harry Potter that apparently was much older and he again frowned. This time the scene was not bleary and milky, nor was it as wavering like a normal memory would be, like the first few scenes had been, but it was shadowy – and startling real.

As was the boy that got slapped in the face by Petunia, the woman screaming at him about having ruined her birthday like he always ruined everything, having used his freakishness to invite this awful Figg woman for tea and he frowned.

Arabella Figg had been here? On this very day? And from the clothes the boy was wearing he knew that it definitely _was_ the same day, Potter had arrived at his home in these very clothes. But what had Arabella done here? And why had she not reported anything to Hogwarts? To Albus? Or even to him?

But wait – the very same day?

Potter looked as if he were, about five or six years old, and surely not eleven, soon to be twelve. And the boy already seemed injured. There was a blue eye and there was blood running down his face from a cut over his temple while another line of already dried blood implied a nosebleed the boy had clearly had earlier.

Another sharp slap in Potter's face, but the boy didn't even lift his hand to bring it up over the already red cheek, his hands both hanging at his sides and he blinked in shock at the realization that the boy seemed to know how fruitless it was – and how much it might anger his aunt if he tried any sign of defending himself and defying her.

Frowning he looked at the wall to search for the calendar, but it was gone and narrowing his eyes he rounded the two so he stood behind Petunia, watching Harry's face just the moment the woman gave another slap. Potter took it stoically, his hands not even twitching and only his eyes were watery with tears he barely held back.

He watched Petunia slapping the boy again, frowned at the force behind the slaps – but then she stopped and turned. But not to release Potter to his room, but to call for her husband and her next words, he was sure that he never ever would forget them. "You go on, Vernon, my hands hurt, I need a rest. But not in his face, I'm not through with him yet."

How cruel could they be?

He knew for sure that if Arabella had visited Petunia for her birthday, then it couldn't be Potter's fault but Arabella's plans for trying to find out one thing or another if she was unhappy with the scene and suddenly he remembered the woman telling the order about Potter not being treaded well by the Dursleys, many years ago, during one of the meetings held shortly after the downfall of the Dark Lord. He had sneered at the squib, had asked her if the boy didn't get his favorite pudding.

He started realizing how wrong he'd been back then.

Vernon Dursley ordered Potter to undress and in horror Snape watched the boy obeying without moving one single muscle in his face. He could see the fear and the panic in the boy's eyes, but his face was as if cast in stone. A moment later Dursley ordered the boy to lean over the wooden stool he'd seen before in the house's memory while he unbuckled his belt and he took a sharp intake of breath, knowing what would come.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

It was clear that everything had gone downhill from that day on when Vernon Dursley had not only bought a cane for the boy but had taken the extra precaution of locking the door to the cupboard under the stairs, apparently Potter's room, after beating him as a Christmas present, leaving the already much too small boy to scratch and scream until he collapsed in exhaustion, leaving him in there for at least four days, the neglect had changed into clear and cruel abuse – no, torture, and the boy had learned to take it all with as less fuss as he was able to, most likely knowing that he only would worsen his situation if he made any kind of fuss.

Well, the next few days and weeks the entire neighbourhood had started talking about the deeply disturbed boy the Dursleys had taken in during Christmas, their nephew, whom they were now trying to bravely raise as their own – the one who couldn't be allowed around _normal_ people.

But the last memory had him left shocked to the core, because of the very cruelty of it, because of Dursley beating the boy's backside with his belt over and over again with a force that was nothing else than a cruel and senseless beating and that had nothing to do with a warrantable spanking, a senseless beating that went on and on for he didn't know how many strikes that had left the boy's backside bleeding.

Potter soon had started screaming, the stoic face from before a mask of clear pain and terror, horror, but Dursley had only stopped when the boy had lost consciousness and he started to fear that this was not a first time.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in I am here you silly child**

_A matter of life and death – by Iron Maiden _… _it seemed appropriate for this chapter _…

_He is not looking forward to this._

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be grateful if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …

**House cup: **

please note that Arithmancy Master, the Ravenclaw head of house, has retired because of private reasons and real life taking over – in other words, I am looking for a new Ravenclaw head of house. This post will be temporary until NaNo that starts in November first, and only then, should Arithmancy Master not come back until then, the post will become permanent. I do send greetings and my best wishes to Arithmancy Master in hopes that all will become well soon …

the present time it looks like this:

760 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

754 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

677 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: free post

409 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife, on probation


	4. house of pain – heart of steel

**Title:**

I am here you silly child

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Summer after first year

**Summary:**

AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department, being informed that he could pick up his son at the police station – the problem is – he does not have a son …

**Disclaimer: **

Well … I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hogwarts, his friends or his belongings … J. K. Rowling owns them all … I don't even own Severus Snape – regrettably … Rowling owns him too …

What however doesn't mean that I can't borrow him … as one of my readers once said – a Snape to cuddle in a box *gg* …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing … also please note that the last chapter, chapter two, has been changed …

******Please note** the announcement at the end of this chapter, just before the house cup

**Warning:**

Story will contain references to child abuse.

This chapter _does_ contain child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been mistreated.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

* * *

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

**Previously in I am here you silly child**

_Well, the next few days and weeks the entire neighbourhood was talking about the deeply disturbed boy the Dursleys had taken in during Christmas, their nephew, whom they were now trying to bravely raise as their own – the one who couldn't be allowed around __normal__ people._

_But the last memory had him left shocked to the core, because of the very cruelty of it, because of Dursley beating the boy's backside with his belt over and over again with a force that was nothing else than a cruel and senseless beating and that had nothing to do with a warrantable spanking, a senseless beating that went on and on for he didn't know how many strikes that had left the boy's backside bleeding. _

_Potter soon had started screaming, the stoic face from before a mask of clear pain and terror, horror, but Dursley had only stopped when the boy had lost consciousness and he started to fear that this was not a first time. _

**I am here you silly child**

**Chapter four **

**House of pain – heart of steel**

Frowning he turned upon the boy vanishing from the kitchen table, being gone as if he never had been there, like Dursley too, and he turned towards a new sound, towards a softly asked "Harry?", wondering where the sound, where the question might have come from and he could see Dudley Dursley standing there, at the bottom of the staircase that led upstairs towards the bedrooms of number four.

The boy looked shocked, and following the gaze of his pale blue eyes his dark eyes met Potter, laying in the corridor, between the kitchen door and the door that led to the living room, laying there, and suddenly he knew that – this was not a memory, this was happening for real while at the same time he wondered – how could this be happening for real while Potter was in his guest chamber and laying in his bed safely? And he was _sure _that Potter was there, laying in his bed safely or the alarms he had cast over the brat would already have alerted him, even though he was not at Snape Castle.

But then Potter turned his head to look at Snape with a glimmer of hope appearing for a moment and now, after having seen the previous visions, the Potions Master felt some barrier within him shattering into thousands of pieces, felt something soaring through him like the flames of a fire so wild it was up to destroying, because he knew that the boy on the floor was dying – and he also knew that it _was_ real or this Potter wouldn't have seen him. And he knew that he _had_ seen him or there wouldn't have been this glimmer of hope for a moment in those bloody green eyes, even though it had been gone too soon for his liking.

He was on the floor beside the boy, wand in hand and spells over spells coming in a whisper over his lips in just a moment, his brain working overdrive while he tried to think of _any_ spell that could help Potter with staying alive, while he forced his magic to do his biddings and to heal whatever could be healed. There were too many injuries on the much too small, thin and weak body for the boy to have a chance, and yet, he just had to try, he just couldn't let Potter dying here and he cursed under his breath, a very rare thing. Why had Lily shown him this if she let her son dying here anyway? Why had she not simply let the situation like it had been while the boy had been at Snape Castle and in safety? Why would she bring the boy, her own son, here now to die?

For a moment there were those whispered words in his mind – _"… even though he is not my flesh …"_ – but it was gone before he could grasp the thought.

The boy was muttering something, weakly and so softly, whispering, protesting, but he couldn't understand anything as he slipped in and out of consciousness and Snape worked on, now adding potions to the spells he had used so far. He had cast general healing spells, spells that would ease the boy's breathing and spells that would numb his awareness somewhat, and now he added a general healing potion, a pain reliever and a calming draught to the spells, hoping that he would not overload Potter with too much magic what could lead to his death due to – _'poisoning'_ – for the lack of a better word, just as well.

Dudley in the meantime stood forgotten in the doorway, unaware of the strange relation between Harry and his unlikely saviour, unaware of the irony that a teacher was saving his most hated student. Had he known, then surely he would have had the proof of what his own teacher had said – that any human being was worth as much as was any other human being. That everyone was worth being treated nice and that everyone was worth being saved.

But he was unaware of this irony and so he just stared in fascination how this man used his _'freakishness'_ as his mom and dad called it, used his … _magic_ … and how this magic seemed to do as the man wished, because he could see a cut on Harry's temple getting closed, slowly, while Harry seemed to breathe easier a few moments later. Did this mean that Harry's magic wasn't bad? If it could heal people? A thought that startled him so very much he barely could breath for a moment, because even though he already had seen that what his parents had done had been wrong, this realization made it so much worse, because these wizards didn't seem to be bad people. And suddenly he realized – Harry wasn't allowed to use magic during the holidays, and so he couldn't heal himself, even though he maybe might have been able to …

The surface of the Potions Master's mind was filled with healing spells and with the potions or other things that could be keeping the boy alive for just a bit longer until he had him stable, pushing away everything irrelevant to the single purpose of healing the broken child beneath his hands and so he neither spoke to Dudley Dursley nor to Harry Potter while he worked, in truth it was – he simply was unable to find the words of comfort that might come so easily over Poppy's lips.

Not to mention that he knew anyway – he couldn't afford any emotions that only would distract him in his task that was already difficult enough, that was nearly a task impossible to begin with, even without any emotions that would only get in his way, that would keep him from doing what had to be done even though it meant yet even more pain for the boy.

"You're Dudley Dursley, aren't you?" He softly asked the boy standing there, still in shock, but he didn't get an answer and he allowed himself a quick glance at the too fat child who stared at him unbelievingly, scared.

"Dudley!" He repeated more forcefully but still impassively even though he hated using people's first names. There only had been a few people ever whose given names he had used, and these people had been close to him. "Get some bandages, hot water and antiseptic. Don't dawdle, you're in charge of taking care of your cousin's minor injuries."

And already he was back on his task, concentrating on broken ribs that threatened to pierce the weak and poisoned lungs, poisoned from living in a cupboard filled with poisonous fumes from all the cleaning agents, the edges of the broken bones already scratching on the soft tissue, slowly directing them away from the lungs with his wand and cursing about the fact that everything on the boy was so damn small.

It wasn't the first time that he healed people, back then when the Dark Lord had still been there he often had done so, had healed the people the madman had tortured – but that had never been children, only adults and Potter right now seemed to be like a _small _child even.

"He's lost a ton of blood." The boy, Dudley, said while working on a small cut on Potter's hand, actually having to fight with Potter who over and over again pulled his hand back – but well, this way both boys were distracted. He didn't however like the worried voice from the cousin, which bordered onto panic.

"I can see that." He answered, calmly, knowing that it wouldn't do if he snapped at the boy.

"But it's hard for him to make up for it because he doesn't have enough water in his system." The boy then continued and he cast another quick glance. "We've learned at school 'bout it, that blood needs a lot of water to …"

"Hush, boy." He growled. "I'm taking care of that."

Inwardly though, he was thanking the boy for his train of thought. He needed a blood replenisher, that was important and he would have to call for Zilly anyway as he needed a stabilizer and strengthening potion too.

Calmly he called for his house elf, Zilly appearing immediately with a soft _'pop'_, startling Dudley Dursley nearly into oblivion and he sighed. Of course the boy would be scared out of his pants. Potter too was startled, seemed scared, but where the boy should know about the wizarding world, he for once doubted that Potter had ever seen a house elf, his relatives didn't have one, rather had kept the boy as a house elf, and the house elves at Hogwarts didn't show themselves. So most probably Potter had never seen one even though he was wizard – and besides of that, the boy was already scared enough, and understandably so.

"I need my potions kit, Zilly, and I need to know if Mr. Potter is still at Snape Castle." He calmly said. Deep within though, a venomous rage uncoiled itself with each wound that he cleaned out, healed and covered in bandages, with each broken bone he set to mending and with each violet or black bruise he discovered, and it grew stronger upon each soft cry of pain the boy gave away under his hands, with each tear that ran over the pale face and with each plea that came over the child's split and bleeding lips.

"Young Master Potter is still at Snape Castle, Master Snape, Professor, sir." The small house elf said and the fact that he called him Master, Professor _and_ sir told him enough about the shock Zilly was in just as well.

Zilly had been his house elf when he had been a small child, the only thing his mother had been able to insist on, that they had a house elf that cared for him. He didn't know if Tobias Snape had agreed in hopes that maybe the creature would be able to handle his magic, but he really didn't care about that, and surely not right now.

So Zilly had of course seen him injured once in a while as his father had not been a pleasant person, his father hating magic as much as Petunia did, fearing his mother's and his ability and believing that with violence he would be able to control them, to control Eileen and him. But never had Tobias Snape gone as far as the Dursleys – never had Zilly seen him as badly injured as was Potter right now.

He didn't know what the meaning of this was, Potter being here, clearly, definitely, physically _being here_, because he could touch the boy, and the boy definitely reacted to his treatment, while at the same time Potter still seemed to be at Snape Castle – but well, he didn't have the time for such thoughts, he could ponder about that later, because vision or not, this boy _here_ definitely _felt_ the pain he seemed to be in.

A moment later Zilly popped back in Number four to bring the potions he had asked for, staying and immediately starting to help in healing the minor wounds like he always had done with him, helping his mother to heal him after his father had beaten him.

"I do need you back at Snape Castle, Zilly, to watch over the child there, whatever the meaning of this is." He softly said in a voice that for once showed his gratitude. "I need you to care for him as soon as he wakes, I don't know the condition this child will be in, I fear that _anything_ could happen at the present situation."

Again the anger washed over him at the cruelly and the violence against a child, but above all, it was fury at the man who had done this to Potter, a black rage that he had not felt in more than a decade. It rose, dark and hungry, thirsting for retribution, something he hadn't felt in ages, but more subtle and more slowly rose a bitter thread of hate towards himself.

For what he had done and for what he had failed to do.

"Of course, Master Snape, Professor, sir." Zilly softly answered. "Zilly will care for Master Potter until Master Snape is back." And with this the small creature was gone again, leaving behind a gravely injured child, a dying child, leaving behind a Potions Master that had drops of perspiration on his forehead from the strain of concentration, and leaving behind a child that goggled at the term – "Master Potter" – Dudley Dursley realizing that maybe in his own world Harry Potter was not only a simple wizard, but actually a well-known and important wizard.

The grey light of the house only contributed to the pallor of the boy's face and the dark man that was working to save the child's life pushed the pang of guilt away, moving into action once again. He couldn't afford getting sentimental, but his fingertips shook slightly in the remaining trail of thoughts he'd had only moments ago.

The boy still drifted in and out of consciousness, still opened pain filled eyes every now and then before they drifted close again, and whenever Potter opened those emerald eyes, it shook the Potions Master to his core. He saw Lily's eyes in that battered face, Lily looking back at him, but they held emotion that he had never seen in _them:_ despair, the silent cries of a hundred dark nights – and it hurt, it hurt his very soul, his very core, and suddenly he realized – it hurt _his _magical core, Potter's pain actually influenced his own magical core.

He didn't allow himself to acknowledge it as he worked, knowing that he didn't have the time for such a thing, but when he next cleaned the dried blood from the child's face, from the cut on the boy's temple that spoke of a broken skull, then it was with a tenderness that he didn't know he possessed.

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He had been working on the child for more than an hour now when he finally had finished tending to all the life threatening injuries and finally had time to care for the less threatening but still dangerous wounds.

Gently he peeled the fabric of the t-shirt from the mangled flesh of Harry's flayed back and long engrained habit of practice and routine in the art of healing fought against both, rage and sorrow. He forced himself to crush both beneath the strongest of his occlumency shields, at least for the time being, but he knew that he would be drowning in all of these emotions later, when his task was done and when he was alone, but for now he didn't have the time for any emotion – because right now he resided in the house of pain, having the child of pain beneath his hands and the only thing that could keep himself from drowning roght now was his own heart of steel.

Hissing in horror himself he placed a calming hand on the boy's neck, the only place where the skin was not covered in cuts and welts, running his thumb over the soft skin of a much too small child in what he hoped was a calming way while the fabric of the t-shirt kept sticking to the injuries every now and then and he had to cast a few soaking spells to get the shirt rid of the boy's back without pulling the shirt from the dried wounds, reopening them forcefully – and the strange thing was, that touch, even though he was sure that the child knew who he was, was calming the child.

He was already forcing his memories away, memories of what he had seen in the house's memories, and memories of what he had seen for real – he forced them away and he forced them below the deepest layers of his occlumency shields, covered them with his shields, buried them beneath his shields, buried them like a murderer would bury his corpses, his memories of what Vernon and Petunia Dursley had done, the crimes they had committed, he buried them for exhumation, for inspection at a later point so that the Dursleys could pay for what they had done.

When he finally had gotten rid of the t-shirt, the boy's back meanwhile not only covered in blood but in perspiration too, the child's muscles tight and Potter holding his breath to prevent screaming with pain every now and then, he threw the offending thing at the wall beside him, knowing that his outburst of anger didn't change anything – but it had felt good anyway, even though the bloody shirt didn't make any kind of satisfying sound and even though the bloody shirt didn't hit the wall with the force he would have wished, he would do the same with some of the Dursleys' dishes later, the moment he had the time to rage.

He had skimmed through his potions kit Zilly had brought earlier, his fingers flipping open the latches of the bag and then skimming through the vials, selecting those that would be most efficient for the boy without poisoning him. From one side pocket he had pulled out a blood replenisher and a stabilizing potion, and from another pocket he had taken a strengthening solution and a magic-restoring potion to keep the boy from using up all his remaining magic, his core already being drained enough. The potion would overtake in this area now.

A calming draught and a pain reliever he already had given him earlier, when he had first knelt beside the boy on the floor, and he hadn't dared giving him another dose so soon and added to all the other potions he'd fed him.

Gently he now ran the a cloth covered with a cleaning solution over more of the bleeding cuts to clean them out, ignoring the boy's tears, knowing that the child's back was mangled so very much that every touch hurt as much as if it were another blow with a cane or a whip, knew that the pain reliever surely wouldn't take the pain away completely.

He covered the cuts with a healing salve he took from the potions kit, allowing the skin to absorb the salve so that it could already do some healing while he cared for the next cuts while he at the same time cast another diagnostic spell - his fourth or fifth meanwhile.

He had cast the first diagnostic spell at the boy about – he didn't know how many hours ago, but that wasn't important either. He had been shocked about the amount of life threatening injuries the spell had shown and he had directed the spell towards the white wall, not ready to take even a second while studying the parchment the spell produced, he didn't have time for that. While written on the white wall, he just needed to look up at the wall for a second every now and then.

The diagnostic he cast now did look much better, after he had cared for most of the more severe injuries, but what worried him, was the dehydration and the starvation.

"Go and get your cousin a bowl of broth." Snape said without looking at the muggle boy and still, even though his voice was by no means kind, it lacked its usual sting. "He'll need the salts of it. And bring some water too – lukewarm, both of them. Harsh temperatures either way would send Potter into shock."

Well, at least this boy had learned to obey an order, as spoiled as he was, and so he went back to Potter's back, finally muttering a healing spell and he could watch the healing salve that already had been absorbed into the skin knitting the edges of the cuts together, slowly, gluing them together and gently he placed his hand at the boy's neck again to calm the whimpers of pain while the irritated skin was knitted back together.

"Sir." The Dursley boy said, reaching the water towards him.

"One moment, please." He softly said, his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of him. Merlin, why did he have to regard two children now? But well, he didn't care about the Dursley boy, this boy had done enough as far as he had seen in the memories the house had provided him with, most likely upon Lily's wish, and he actually wondered why it was that the Dursley boy was helping right now, seemed so shocked right now, as if horrified by what his parents had done. Had he not known that their actions would leave injuries on even a wizarding child?

"Sit at the floor, with your back leaning against the wall." He said when the skin stopped moving, being healed as good as possible even though he knew that there would be much more healing necessary until the boy's back wouldn't hurt anymore as there were just too many injuries to heal all of them in one go. The most worry he held over a long and deep cut that was running from the boy's left shoulder all the way down to his right hip, a cut that was created with a knife, he was sure of that. The edges of the cut were not sharp enough for being caused by a scalpel while they were too sharp for being created by something like a bottle or a shard of glass, or any other sharp object the boy could have either been beaten with or thrown at. It was clearly a cut caused by a knife and alone the thought of Dursley running a knife over the boy's back woke enough horrors in him to think up any painful and slow way of inflicting death upon that creature.

"Spread your legs." He then ordered, not caring about the boy being startled. "I will place your cousin sitting between your legs and leaning with his back against your chest." He then explained, not only for Dursley to know what would happen, but for Potter too. "I expect you to do nothing but making sure that Potter won't topple over and hurt himself even more."

Gently he moved the boy on the floor, picked him up at his bony shoulders and lifting him up until he could place him between Dursley's legs, startled about _how _skeletal and about _how _light weighted the boy was, ignoring the small whimpers Potter gave away upon being moved.

Slowly he reached a glass over, but he immediately realized that Potter was in no shape to actually hold it and drink - and with a suffering sigh he summoned a straw before he placed the glass at Potter's lips. Surely he wouldn't take the risk of the boy choking upon drinking and hurting his already scratched lungs because of a coughing fit.

"Who're you?" Dursley finally asked while he helped Potter drinking, pulling the straw from Potter's mouth every now and then so that he would't harm himself with drinking too much too quickly, a question he had expected earlier from the boy.

"I am Professor Snape, Mr. Potter's potions teacher." He simply answered, ignoring the boy looking him up and down.

"You know, I've never thought about the fr- … about Harry's school having teachers like mine." Dursley said and he looked at the boy sharply.

"What did you expect?" He asked, his voice carrying a hint of anger at the typical muggle-prejudice. "Vampires and werewolves as teachers? Or the students having no teachers at all but a priest and sitting in a circle muttering things not even they know the meaning of? Or did you expect them to sit around tables and trying to wake ghosts?"

"Something like that, dunno." The boy shrugged, sighing. "It's hard to imagining anything. No one ever told me something, neither my parents nor Harry. Magic or wizards is a forbidden word here and so – what should I have thought about what Harry was doing all year long?"

"You are right, of course, silly child." Snape sighed, realizing that Potter had lost consciousness again and he banished the glass to the kitchen before he gently picked the boy up to finally put him someplace else, someplace more comfortable, to lay him at the sofa in the Dursley's living-room. But he also realized that Dursley Dudley of course had lived through his parents' prejudices too, that the boy had never learned seeing things with open eyes. "Well, part of these things _are _correct, Hogwarts already did have Vampires as teachers and the history teacher is a ghost actually even though there never would be a werewolf employed as a teacher as these are simply dangerous creatures without control over themselves. Neither do the students sit in circles and muttering things they don't know the meaning of but they sit in classrooms like you, learning spells that do have meanings, and they learn how to brew potions, like the ones I have fed your cousin with to heal him. They have homework like you have and they have to write tests and essays like you have to. We are not doing dark things in dark corners, Dursley, we have bad wizards as well as good wizards, just like you have bad people and good people in your world."

Well, as it seemed he had given the boy something to think over, because the young Dursley was sitting beside his cousin's legs on the sofa, his gaze far away as if in thought and he left the boy alone.

It was anyway time to go on with Potter and he thought that binding the boy's broken arm and leg was easier done while he was unconscious, that way he would spare him _that_ pain at least. Gently he started to bind the arm flat against his student's chest, immobilizing the shattered bone beneath layers of clean, white cotton, the cloth stark white against the shredded red, bloody and dirty skin of the boy.

Potter's wrists were thin, as thin and bony, as was anything on the boy, veins showing blue through nearly translucent skin, as the Potions Master checked his pulse that was neither steady nor strong and the man could feel the bones of the boy's arm pressing through barely existent muscle mass and skin when he wrapped the bandages around it, could feel the bones of his ribcage rising with indrawn breath, and again he felt a painful tightening in his throat - because he knew that he was responsible for this, partly at least.

He knew that Dumbledore had placed Potter with Petunia and her husband and now, thinking of it, he knew that Dumbledore didn't really care about how Harry would grow up, because Dumbledore only needed Harry as a weapon against the Dark Lord. He also knew that Minerva should have noticed something, she was the boy's head of house after all and she should have noticed something, she should have sent the boy to Poppy for a checkup. Poppy too, should have seen things, she was the school nurse after all and Potter hand been in her infirmary more than twice last year.

And yet – the boy had been in his potions class, a practical class after all, a class during which he could watch students moving instead of sitting stock-still. The boy had been one of his students and he was the Potions Master of Hogwarts after all, having access to the infirmary just like Poppy – and yet, he had noticed nothing, because he hadn't wanted to see it.

And so – yes, Lily was right.

He was just as responsible as anyone else, maybe even more, because Potter was the son of his dead friend. He was responsible as if holding a small and little mouse in cupped hands, feeling the fragility and responsibility washing over him. And yet, he had not taken over the responsibility for the boy, for an innocent child to safe him from a fate worse than death even though he was no stranger to great responsibility.

He had taken the safety of the entire order onto his shoulders each night that he had put on the Death Eater mask to attend their meetings, had hidden his memories and true feelings away behind his strongest occlumency shields and had knelt before the Dark Lord with his eyes and mind filled with pretended admiration and worship even though he had hated not only the bastard but his followers too – and what they had expected him to do. But he had done everything they expected him to do, just so that his cover wouldn't be blown, because if it had blown, then the order would have been in danger, every member of it.

He had been the spy to the order, the one person that had held their lives secret, their living places, their plans, he didn't care about their loath of him, he took it as he had taken his duties as a spy back then when the Dark Lord had been alive still.

It had been his duty, his responsibility over a lot of witches and wizards – but here, this was a single life, metaphorically held in his two hands.

'_James Potter's son, Lily's son',_ a voice in his mind murmured, and he swiftly pushed it down, together with his other thoughts. To wallow in guilt was equally weak as wallowing in any other emotion, and equally as useless – especially now.

Bandaging the boy's leg but having nothing to fix it at the moment he cast a fixing spell over the shattered bones. He could have done the same with the boy's arm of course, but he knew that he couldn't cast too many spells over the boy right now, nor feed him with too many potions, like skele-gro for example, he would drive the boy into shock if he did and that surely was not a desired side effect.

"Cold …" Potter's whispered voice got him out of his thoughts and he summoned the blanket that was thrown over the backrest of one of the armchairs, having Dursley looking at him with large eyes.

"A simple summoning charm and nothing to be startled over." He explained while he covered Potter with the blanket. "Hush now, Potter." He then concentrated onto calming the clearly scared young wizard. "I have already cast a warming charm over the room and you'll get warmer soon. I have taken care of most of your injuries and you'll be up to annoy the hell out of me in no times. How do you feel?"

"Hurts …" The boy pitifully whimpered and for a moment he gritted his teeth.

Of course it hurt. He knew that surely it hurt badly, he knew that the boy was in pain, in a lot of pain, and only Merlin knew for how long, that he was scared and weak and all around feeling horrible, but now was not the time to allow his emotions playing havoc on him.

"I know." He calmly said. "But I can't do much against that at the present time. Why don't you try to go back to sleep, Mr. Potter … Harry." He said, deciding to use the boy's given name in the spur of the moment.

"Can't …" The boy whispered and he reached over to place his hand onto the boy's eyes, effectively closing them, ignoring the flinch the boy gave away, ignoring the startled scream and ignoring the large and scared eyes.

"Just close your eyes, Harry, and sleep." He softly said. using his deepest voice possible, knowing the effect of it. "You are safe as long as I am here with you, no one will harm you while I watch over you and as soon as you are stable and strong enough for transportation, I will take you to Hogwarts where you will be absolutely safe."

"Why …" The boy rasped and he knew exactly what question the boy wanted to ask.

'_Because I am not a person that kicks another person who is already on the ground.'_ He thought, mentally giving a sigh away.

"Hush now, we'll speak tomorrow." He instead said, not ready to discuss about his emotions and his actions. "Right now I need you to sleep and rest so that your body has the chance to recover enough strength for transportation."

"Cold." The boy whispered again, despite the warm blanket and the warming charm he had cast over the room, and he couldn't resist anymore, took the boy's body into his arms because he knew – he had done everything he could, he had done _everything _possible and all that was left now was to wait and hope that the magic would work, that the healing spells would do their work and heal the boy's organs, the cracked skull and the damaged lungs, while he hoped that the potions would at least ease the child enough so that his body would not get into more stress yet but were able to relax, at least a bit and he summoned a second blanket, not caring where it came from, and put it around the boy's body, tucking the weak and violently shivering body into the warm fabric.

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It was midnight, the clock striking twelve times, announcing that the new day had started while at the same time Snape had to realize that he couldn't do anything for the boy anymore – a new day had started but a life had ended, Harry Potter was dead, had died in his arms and he took a deep breath.

Merlin!

Why had this happened?

Just a few hours ago the boy had been laying in his bed at Snape Castle, safe - and now he was laying dead in his arms, killed by his own uncle, killed because of no reason at all, killed because of the cruelly of mankind, killed because of the wizarding society not caring about their saviour. Lily had been right. Lily had been absolutely right with every single word she had said and he had to take the blame for the child's death, too.

Of course he knew that Harry Potter was _indeed _laying in his bed at Snape Castle, Zilly had informed him about it and if anything about the situation would have changed meanwhile, then the house elf surely would have informed him already about it, not to mention that the wards he had cast over Potter had not gone off. But that didn't mean …

_He was here_, and this _child was here_, whoever or whatever this child was, had died right now and right in his arms and so …

Bowing his head he actually felt the pain of loss in his chest, not understanding why he would feel that pain at Potter's death. He had seen other people dying after all, had lost other people after all.

He had to admit that yes, he never had seen a child being beaten to death, he had never held a child during its death in his arms and he never had tried to save a child's life so frantically as he had done tonight, just to have said child dying in his arms anyway – but he _had seen _death, yes. He had seen enough death and he had seen cruel death.

And so he didn't understand the reason as to why he should feel any kind of loss upon Potter's death – and his only explanation was the extreme situation, was the little fact that – only recently, just for a few hours, had he realized and started to accept that Harry was Lily's child too, not only James Potter's but the child of his best friend.

Lily even had _wished _for him to care for the bloody child, to …

Shifting to lay the boy back at the Sofa again so that he could care for what had to be done now, the boy was gone, gone from his arms and gone from the sofa, gone from the room, because Potter was standing in the corridor, very much alive even though he was leaning at the wall heavily, clearly being in pain and clearly being exhausted beyond anything else.

Merlin, if the boy still was alive, then –

Of course it had been another memory only, or rather a vision of some kind, but a vision he'd been able to partake in, as unlikely as such a thing normally would happen, but _that_ it _had been_ what had happened and he sighed out in relief before he frowned - because it was clear that it meant that the boy's life was in his hands truly.

Lily had shown him the boy's past, through the eyes of the house, the house of pain, he thought, huffing at the sentimentality of the thought.

Then she had shown him what might happen if there still would no one care for the blood brat, namely Potter's death - and now the boy was standing there, most likely meant for him to take his second chance. So, he better got the boy out of this house, away from his relatives, and before it was too late.

Walking over to the brat he slowly reached out to touch the boy's shoulder, noticing the change in the boy's stance even before he had actually touched him. A moment later the boy slid down the wall, curling into a ball at the floor and he sighed – apparently they were back to square one.

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Harry Potter, in his care. And this was where he had brought him. He had the briefest impulse to laugh, but even that quickly stifled. He had not felt so ill-equipped to deal with any situation since … well. Not in years. Efficiency was a field in which he was an expert. He could brew potions, could shred shrivelfigs to precisely the correct coarseness, could stew a horned slug, could produce the perfect potion; he could even pour it down a patient's throat. But to deal with the emotions of an emotionally and physically traumatized eleven year old - there was no procedure for that, no clear solution.

But well - he was Severus Snape, wasn't he? And Severus Snape was not scared, neither of a horde of idiot and imbecilic teenagers, nor of a single and emotional child, and despite the faint brush of unaccustomed uncertainty, he was sure that the protective instinct that had started burning within him – against every ounce of ingrained logic, was growing. Protective instinct, mind you, not the foolish emotion some called love.

Emotions were for the weak, for those who wore their hearts on their sleeves for everyone to see, for the fools who would be controlled by their merest impulse, by their fears and woes. And he was not a fool, he was not weak – and yet, something had fractured within him in this house of number four Privet Drive, when he had called Harry by his name, caught by the sheer anguish in those green eyes shortly before the child had died in his arms.

In the alchemy of that moment, he had committed himself, as shocking as it was, entirely to that boy's defence. Whether the boy would, or could, ever trust him, or would even feel _anything_ toward him other than the dislike - it did not matter. It was not part of this equation – because he, Snape, _he _had allowed himself to bond, had started a bond. And neither did it matter if it only was a vision, or a memory, because the bond was directed towards the person, never mind where this person resided at the present time, he had bonded with the person anyway.

Casting another diagnostic, he realized that he would do the same work on the boy again, and again, and again if necessary to safe the boy's life.

But well, this time the diagnostic showed less injury than there had been in the previous vision. The boy's back was as sliced and as mangled as had been the back from the previous Potter, the long vertical cut that had worried him most being there too, but other than that he seemed in a much better health, the child's organs at least unharmed yet, except for the poisoned lungs which – he was sure of it – came from yearlong inhaling of cleaning fumes in the cupboard, the boy being stable enough to move him.

When he attempted to lift Potter to his feet however, the boy resisted, shaking his head, trembling and shivering.

"Potter." He said, his voice slipping into formal tones, belying his true emotions. "Your cooperation is required."

Struggling into complete consciousness, Potter regarded Snape with bleak eyes.

"Can't …" Potter rasped through split lips. "No … can't …" His voice was broken and weak, but tight with desperation and pain.

"Potter." Snape repeated before taking a deep breath, lowering his head for a moment, his jaw tight. He hesitated for a moment, hating the sound of his own voice, hating his inability to find words, hating his own failings.

"Harry." He then said, like he had done earlier, softer this time.

Harry. Harry Potter. The unruly, idiot and arrogant delinquent had transformed into Harry in the span of only a few hours, but well, the boy at least reacted and turned towards him, pain filled green eyes searching the dark man's face for something and whatever it was that he was looking for, he must have found it, for he lifted himself to his feet with some effort and his help, swaying unsteadily the moment he stood.

Gently looping his arm around Harry's narrow shoulders, he steadied the boy as he slowly led the boy along the corridor and towards the front door. Through the bloody and tattered shirt he could feel the sharp edges of his shoulder blades that pressed into his arm and he could feel the sharp edges of the cuts beneath his hand.

He refused to think of the fragmented memories of Harry's childhood that he had seen, every one a sign that he had missed, he refused to think of his own sneering comments that had surely wounded the boy more deeply than he would ever show. Those would wait for one hundred sleepless nights, buried but still burning beneath ruthless efficiency. For now he just would steady the boy and would catch him if he fell.

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* * *

**To be continued**

**Next time in I am here you silly child**

_The Dursleys, Snape, and a Potter_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be very grateful if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you …

**House cup: **

please note that Arithmancy Master, the Ravenclaw head of house, has retired because of private reasons and real life taking over – in other words, I am looking for a new Ravenclaw head of house. This post will be temporary until NaNo that starts in November first, and only then, should Arithmancy Master not come back until then, the post will become permanent. I do send greetings and my best wishes to Arithmancy Master in hopes that all will become well soon …

the present time it looks like this:

760 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

754 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

677 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: free post

409 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Lovelesslife, on probation


	5. the tables have turned

**Title:**

I am here you silly child

**Author:**

evil minded

**Timeframe:**

Summer after first year

**Summary:**

AU / Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, is happy to finally have his well deserved holidays and to be free from idiotic students while being Spinner's End, until … yes, until he receives a call from the London police department, being informed that he could pick up his son at the police station – the problem is – he does not have a son …

**Disclaimer: **

Well … I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hogwarts, his friends or his belongings … J. K. Rowling owns them all … I don't even own Severus Snape – regrettably … Rowling owns him too …

What however doesn't mean that I can't borrow him … as one of my readers once said – a Snape to cuddle in a box *gg* …

**Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

**Author's Notes:**

Uhm … ok … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the bad English I use, nor for what I am writing …

**Warning:**

Story will contain references to child abuse.

Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once being abused, then try to help … there are too much humans in our world who are or had been mistreated.

what does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

* * *

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**Previously in I am here you silly child**

_Gently looping his arm around Harry's narrow shoulders, he steadied the boy as he slowly led the child along the corridor and towards the front door. Through the bloody and tattered shirt he could feel the sharp edges of his shoulder blades that pressed into his arm and he could feel the sharp edges of the cuts beneath his hand even too._

_He refused to think of the fragmented memories of Harry's childhood that he had seen, every one a sign that he had missed, he refused to think of his own sneering comments that had surely wounded the boy more deeply than he would ever show. Those would wait for one hundred sleepless nights, buried but still burning beneath ruthless efficiency. For now he just would steady the boy and would catch him if he fell._

**I am here you silly child**

**Chapter five **

**The tables have turned**

They barely had done a few steps when the front door opened and the boy had stopped dead. Snape could feel every muscle in his body tensing up and he tightened the grip he had on Potter.

In marched Petunia Dursley, as if she had just come home from shopping or from a nice dinner with her husband while in truth she had been gone the entire night, both her husband and her having been refused inside the house when he had forced his way past her to enter after she had given him Potter's things, hours ago, and who knew what the vision had done to them while he had cared for Potter, or what exactly the magic had the two of them doing during this time, maybe they really thought that they'd been out for dinner, maybe they had even _been_, he didn't care about that. He'd had his peace to look after Potter and he hadn't had to deal with them, that was enough to him.

Her dress was flowing and fluttering with movement, the thin scarf around her thin neck bobbing up and down with the steps and a smile plastered over her face, a cold smile.

"Duddykins …" She just began in a sing-sang voice before her eyes fell upon Harry, then Snape, words dying on their way through her throat while her face blanched and he couldn't help feeling a scourging blaze of rage and fury soaring through his veins. This was Lily's sister, Potter's aunt, and even though his face remained impassive, she must have felt some of his emotions anyway because she took a faltering step back. "I know you." She gasped, the thin scarf around her neck moving along with the gulp she was taking before she drew in another breath.

A moment later Vernon Dursley appeared behind his wife and Snape could feel the boy starting to tremble, starting to shake with fear, trying to cringe away from the man's sight and again Snape tightened his grip, steadying him in what he hoped would be a comforting gesture, or at least a gesture that might show the boy – he wouldn't allow them to lay hands upon him again. Anyway he could feel Potter clutching at his jacket with his good hand desperately while he held his other arm protectively over his chest.

"Who's that?" The red-faced man asked as he came up behind his skinny wife and took in Snape's appearance. His chest started heaving and Snape noticed a purple vein appearing on the temple of his head.

Snape offered no explanation, coldly scanning the man's quivering moustache, the two chins that quivered like gelatine, the two beefy fists, fists he knew had beaten a small and helpless child, the small eyes that quickly vanished into cheeks swollen with rage upon narrowing.

"It's … it's _him!_" Petunia spat in a tone as cold as ice, glancing back and forth between Vernon and Snape as she spoke. "He was one of _her_ friends …"

The man gasped and looked up at Snape with unmistakable hatred. "_You_!" Dursley spat and Snape sighed at the stupidity of these muggles, but forced himself to remain calm.

"Yes, your wife has already announced that, thank you. Now if you could just …"

Then Vernon Dursley began to thunder.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE, YOU BLOODY FREAK?" Dursley roared, most likely believing that he could have him covering upon the bad temper but he only sneered at the man calmly. "DUNNO WHO THE HELL YOU ARE BUT YOU'RE ONE OF THEM! I RECOGNIZE A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING-FREAK IF I SEE ONE AND YOU ARE!"

Snape calmly faced the man, ignoring the boy in his arms whimpering in his fear, and he recognized that twisting sneer, the spittle that collected in the corner of the man's moustache. He had seen that expression in his own father's face often, many years ago. The emotion might have been recreated in different flesh, but it was the same emotion, fear, rage, and the readiness to use cruelty to maintain power over a helpless child.

"I suggest you stop your asinine speaking and to step from the door instead." Snape's voice cut across Vernon's bellowing like steel, and Petunia clutched at her husband's arm urgently, panic written clearly across her face, reading the danger in the Potions Master's flat voice.

Dudley, frozen into inaction with his own fear, had upon his face the horrified fascination of one watching a fly coming closer and closer to the nets of a spider, unknowingly approaching destruction. He could see the fury that coiled in the tightening muscles of the dark man's jaw, in the sharp angles of his features and his face, and he knew that the lack of emotion in those black eyes boded nothing but ill – and he remembered the care this man had just moments ago bestowed upon Harry, this man cared and he knew that one better didn't meet a caring man with hate for the ones he cared about.

Not to mention that the cold and steely voice would have set fear into the heart of _any_ rational creature with just a whit of self-preservation and instinct, but his father only faltered an instant before resuming in his rant.

"I SHOULD HAVE KILLED THAT WHELP YEARS AGO UPON HIS BIRTH THEN I'D HAVE MY WELL DESERVED PEACE FINALLY INSTED OF HAVING TO DEAL WITH SUCH WASTE AS YOU ARE! THAT'S WHAT THEY DO WITH DOGS AFTER ALL AND …"

"You will release Potter into my care, then I'll be _gladly_ leaving." He said after waving his wand and therefore effectively stopping the screams.

"You … you undo what you've done to my husband … you … you freak!" Petunia hissed at him, clearly remembering that they had been friends, back then when they had been children, even though Petunia always had been a little scared of him, but they had been friends – until Lily had gotten her letter from Hogwarts but not so Petunia, and until Petunia had written to Dumbledore but had been refused. Her jealousy had turned into hate very soon after that.

"Oh please_,_ _Tuney._" Snape sneered while he absentmindedly toyed with his wand, wanting to hex the woman as payback for everything she'd made him suffer through when they had been teenagers still – and as payback for everything she'd allowed her husband to do to Potter. "Submitting to childish insults already? A little soon, isn't it yet?"

"Don't call me that!" The woman shrieked hysterically, looking as though she would punch him in the face, but was silently willing herself to resist the temptation for as long as possible. "You have no authority to take the little whelp away …"

"Actually, I do, considering that I teach the boy – and yes I am a teacher now, I know that must be coming as quite a shock to you." Snape added, almost enjoying the infuriated expressions on the two muggles' faces.

Before he could react Vernon Dursley had taken a step closer, had stepped past his wife and had leaned forwards, reaching over towards Potter and slapping the boy across the face.

"MAKE HIM GETTING OUT!" He barked at the boy who merely stood there, scared, and not even bringing up his hand upon the slap and it was clear, it was an action both were used to. It also was clear that the man feared Snape, and with good reason so, since he could use his wand as freely as he wished, while Harry wasn't allowed to use magic until the school year began and didn't have his wand on him either.

Again he waved his wand towards Dursley Senior, a silent spell having him nailed against the wall with his legs and arms spread eagle-like, and with a face in which shock was written as clearly as if with letters cast in the stone wall behind him. Only then he turned towards Petunia.

"You." Snape said, his voice soft, but every word was full of hard coldness. "What a waste you have become. She _loved_ you, Petunia. What punishment, do you think befitting, for what you have done to Lily's son? To your sister's child?" He held her eyes with his own black ones, the hint of a humourless smile on his lips, while he again waved his wand, this time at her.

Petunia's knees began to tremble and she felt as if she was drowning, her mind flooded with a torrent of memories: Lily smiling, laughing, the memory of the feeling of Lily's arms wrapped around her, the way how safe she always had felt then, how warm, how loved. She remembered everything that she had forced herself to forget when Dumbledore had refused her. She remembered the way Lily's hair had smelled of flowers, how she had missed that when Lily had been gone, how she had lain awake in bed when Lily had left, feeling alone. She remembered the way Lily's laugh had filled her own heart with joy too, how happy she'd been to just being alive and with her. Petunia was aware, suddenly, of a deep and gaping space within her where love might have once been, but was now a deep and gaping space filled with a lonely bitterness that fell drop by drop upon her heart, carving out her heart bit by bit like drops of water would wash out the stone in a cave and the realization of what was lost, never to be regained hit her full force.

Taking a step towards the trembling and shivering woman he spoke again, softer this time, his voice deep like barely ever before and his tone making clear he was speaking a curse. "You will live each day in full knowledge of what you have lost, you will live each moment with the pain of the loss, and the knowledge of what you have done to your sister's son will haunt you with every breath you take."

Petunia collapsed onto the steps outside of number four, for once not caring what the neighbours would say upon the ruckus in their house, sagging into a ball when every pain of loss and what she had done washed over her downing her in a world of torrent emotions.

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Turning towards Vernon Dursley, he smirked evilly before he took a step towards the man, his wand pointed at him.

"What … what are you doing?" The man asked and he enjoyed the fear, the man now radiated, immensely.

"Now you can feel the fear you have bestowed upon your nephew." He coldly said. "Now, that the tables are turned and you are helplessly in the hands of a wizard. Maybe I should give the boy a knife to use on you for once? But no – I don't wish the boy's innocent soul being blemished with such because of you, you are not worth the boy's soul. But maybe I should do that? My soul is already lost and I have done worse crimes than you ever could imagine."

"Please …" The man sobbed now, feeling the magic crackling around Snape, feeling the spell holding him against the wall forcefully and he trembled, suddenly knowing that he had signed his own death warrant, knowing that the wizard he had standing in front of him, the full grown wizard, was capable of killing him. "Please …"

"Have you ever listened to the pleas of your nephew?" Snape asked, sneering in disgust. "No, you have not. What does it feel like, Dursley, being at the mercy of my hands? Helplessly? How pitifully!" Again he waved his wand and a moment later Dursley started screaming, having Snape rolling his eyes on him.

"How pitifully indeed." He sneered. "I have barely bestowed all the pain upon you your nephew had to live through – but you will feel it for the remainder of your life. Each blow and each night of hunger you will feel. You will stand before the fridge without daring to take anything to eat and you will go to the cupboard each night instead of your bedroom."

"You … you can't do that …" Dursley whispered, panting, trembling, his face nearly white with only a few beet-red spots on his cheeks.

"I can't?" He growled, remembering the last memory he had seen, the one in which Dursley had – _'spanked'_ – the boy and with another wave of his wand a blow was cast at the man's bare backside beneath his clothes, despite his back being turned towards the wall, having him jerking forwards with a cry of surprise and pain, and he tutued at the man with another sneer while the beet red spots in Dursley's face got even redder, just when the next blow was hitting his backside, the man's body jerking forwards again.

Well, it would be that way for the remainder of his life, he would learn to live with it and to control his jerking if he ever wished to go on with his job.

Well, Dursley raged on, interrupted with cries of pain, his body each time jerking forwards with the blow of the invisible strokes while Potter stood there, heavily leaning against the wall where he had put the boy before taking a step towards Dursley, watching the scene with large and scared eyes.

And right now, two choices presented themselves, namely either Albus having been unaware of the realities of Harry's life with the Dursleys, what meant that there were serious flaws in his judgment of the situation, or he _had_ been aware of the abuse that Harry faced, and had, for unknown reasons, allowed Harry to undergo that torture – and nothing else it had been. Either scenario was distinctly unpleasant, and he felt a chill running down his spine, despite the summer heat, because he was sure that it was the second – as Albus knew everything going on.

Narrowing his eyes at the boy who looked at Dursley with large and frightened eyes he tried to sneer at the man but failed, waved his wand instead to gather Potter's belongings, the trunk, shrinking it to put it into his pocket, and the backpack, and then he took Potter's arm, leading the boy out of the house, past Petunia.

"He moves like his mother always had, like Lily always had moved." Petunia sobbed when he led the boy past her. "I've never noticed … I thought that he has just her eyes …"

"And that was not enough reason for you to treat him better, was it?" He sneered down at the woman still sitting at the stone steps, unable or unwilling to get up.

"You need to understand." The woman whispered weakly. "I … I just wanted to have a normal life, with a normal husband and normal children."

"And for you it is normal that your husband is beating a child close to death at a regular basis?" He asked, coldly. "And for you it is normal to starve a child? To refuse him food and clothes? Would it not have been normal to care for your dead sister's child?"

"I … I _did_ care for him …" Petunia sobbed and he huffed. "We … we were not prepared, we were just learning to be parents to Dudley and … Severus, we did not know how to deal with his … abnormality … what do you do with a child that levitates toys and summons pieces of bread?"

"You do not beat him and keep him out of sight!" He coldly said, causing said boy to look up at him questioningly. "Wizarding children do accidental magic, they cannot control it."

"We only wanted for him to be normal …" Petunia sobbed.

"He _is_ normal!" Snape nearly shouted at the woman who seemed unwilling to understand.

"You could have taken him as a baby …" Petunia now openly cried. "You and Lily …"

"We were under the false idea that you would tread your sister's child like you would tread your own child." He hissed.

Merlin!

"It is time, Potter." He calmly said, turning to leave Petunia and for a moment he actually stopped mid-step, startled at the look the boy gave him, as if asking him to go easy on his aunt, on the woman who hurt him so much, who had allowed her husband to hurt him even more. How could this boy not want revenge? How could this boy now ask him to go easy on that woman? And yet, the bloody brat did.

"Let us go, Potter." He said, leading the boy away.

He knew that of course he wouldn't be able taking this Potter with him to Snape Castle, because there already was a Potter laying in the bed in his guest chamber, but well, he had to take the boy away from here anyway, because that was what Lily had wanted him to do and he would do it, never mind what would come now.

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Well, he had known it and so of course he hadn't been startled when upon apparating to Snape Castle only he had arrived, the boy from the vision having vanished even though he'd held him securely and so he knew that the boy had not been vanished because of an apparition accident but because he hadn't belonged into this real world.

It was early morning when he came back, nearly night still as the sun had not risen yet and slowly he wandered through the garden before he entered the house, needing some time for himself after the night he'd had, needing a few moments in the fresh and clean night air to collect himself, to clear his mind and to being able facing the boy he had in his guest chamber. He was painfully aware that he indeed had misjudged the boy and even though he knew that Lily had shown him the worst case scenario – he guessed that the boy was injured anyway.

And he had spanked him the evening before!

Taking a deep breath he gazed up into the sky that was covered in stars that were starting to pale in the brightening light of the slowly rising sun.

'_Yes, Dursley, Vampires can exist in sunlight, despite all the prejudices you have heard'_, he couldn't help thinking.

How the hell was he supposed to act towards the boy now? Towards Potter? The spanking yesterday evening – though absolutely unneeded in the current situation – was surely not the main problem, because yes, he had spanked the boy, and yes, he had showed the boy his place should he stay here at Snape Castle during the summer – what he now knew, the boy would – but the spanking had not done real harm. The real harm he had done, he had done earlier already, during the boy's first school year, when he had gone against the boy whenever possible in not only his potions lessons but in the corridors and even in the great hall too.

He hadn't meant for this to happen and he truly regretted it to have hurt the boy as badly as he had. He should have known better, he should have watched closer, and he should have seen the signs earlier.

Taking a deep breath he went back towards the entrance of the main house.

This area of Snape Castle, far away from Spinner's End, was actually one of the most beautiful places he ever had seen in the world. He had worked so long on this Castle, for months he had cast structure spells, architecture spells, stabilizing spells, had raised walls and masonry, flights of steps and archways, had created hundreds of windows, the garden with all the cobbled paths, the archways and the flowerbeds. Jennifer had loved it, the garden as well as the Castle itself.

A small path led outside the thick masonry, out of the castle grounds and to a small pond before the path led to a small guest house. He'd wanted Jennifer to be happy here, and Jennifer had been.

Gritting his teeth he went inside the castle. It had been too many dark thoughts tonight, he didn't need any more of them and with swift steps he went towards the guest chamber where he had placed Potter.

He silently opened the door without knocking first, sure that Potter would be asleep still, but he found the bed in the dimly lit room empty.

"Young Master Potter woke a few minutes ago and went to the bathroom, Master Snape." Zilly how was sitting at a chair, like he had been ordered to for watching Potter, announced, but upon the worried gaze the small house elf cast towards the bathroom he only gave a curt nod before he went to the closed door, opening the bathroom.

If there was need for his house elf to be worried, then he didn't care about dignity.

Well, he could hear the water of the shower running the moment he opened the door and turning, he frowned, realizing that the temperature in the room was not warmed by the hot water of the shower – because it clearly wasn't a hot, but a cold shower the idiot boy was taking. Well, in the shower Potter was crouched on the floor motionless, curled into himself and shivering in the chill air. He reached his hand towards the jets of water, realizing that it indeed was ice cold and his frown deepening he turned the water off, placed his hand on the boy's cold and bony shoulder.

There was no reaction and he lowered himself down one knee, kneeling down on the shower floor next to the boy and giving him a tiny shake. A moment later his eyes rested on the boy's back and his face darkened.

It was a scarred back, tiny beads of water were congregating around the silver and pink lines that were crisscrossing the pale skin while small shivers were running through the small body, through the much too small body and he swallowed hard, feeling nauseous. He had seen worse damage to the human body in his line of work, and he had seen the memories and the visions just a few hours ago – but having the proof of all the damage done on such a small child, it was another thing. And yes, the boy was but a small child, looking no older than –

His frown deepening he realized that the boy didn't look any older than the boy in the vision had, like a four year old child maybe, or like a five year old but definitely not older than a six year old child would look, and he scowled. The boy hadn't looked so small last time he had seen him, last night, when he had picked him up at the police station and brought him here.

"Potter?" He asked, reminded at the scene at the Dursleys' house just an hour or two ago and the sense of foreboding hit him full force.

"Harry!" He said, picking the boy up from the floor and wrapping him into a large and warm towel. He led him into the adjoining room, into the guest chamber, into the warmth, sat him at the armchair nearest to the fireplace before he cast a warming charm over the room even though it was already warm due to the fire, but he didn't like the shivering of the boy.

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He barely realized Snape being there, taking him from the shower and wrapping him into a towel, he noticed the warmth of the towel and he sensed the worry the Potions Master displayed even though he didn't know the reason, but he didn't realize it when the man led him back into his room and then sat him onto the armchair.

All he could feel was the warmth he was wrapped in suddenly, all he could feel was the softness of the towel Snape had wrapped around him and all he could feel was – he didn't know what he was feeling, but almost instantly his body started relaxing into the armchair he was sitting in, his eyes half open, and it was so very warm and soft and safe and – it was like all energy was sucked out of him like blood through a needle and he just didn't have any energy left.

No energy to move.

No energy to speak.

No energy to think.

No energy to hold up the glamours anymore …

For a short moment he could feel the horror when his glamours failed, gave in because he had no strength left to keep them up, the horror at the knowledge of Snape, Snape of all people, seeing his body, his scars and his injuries, how small and how scrawny he was, like a small, little scarecrow that was cut and patched up again many time, that was wearing rags, a scarecrow to scar away the birds – and the people, because no one wanted any dealings with a scarecrow like him.

But then even this horror was gone and he simply didn't care anymore, didn't have the strength to care about it, to feel the horror of it, might Snape see it, at least he then wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

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Snape watched Potter relaxing into the armchair and he sighed a breath of relief. A relaxed Potter was thousand times better than an upset one because he had intruded his privacy and so he was glad that the boy relaxed into the warm towel and the soft armchair. The brief moment of relief was however cut short as – even if the dim light of the fire burning in the grate, Snape could see a change on the boy's face and he knew – something was very wrong, he could feel it.

Narrowing his eyes he watched how slowly Harry's pale complexion began to change, the ghostly white getting disturbed by colour, a red cut on the boy's forehead that appeared, a cut that apparently had been cleaned out but had not been healed. The next colourful spot that appeared was the boy's his left eye and he could see it blackening like Potter's eye in the vision had been blackened. The boy's lips, dry and chapped, began to split and scar as if they were lined with tiny, vertical paper cuts. A moment later a yellowing jaw was revealed and the Potions Master by now knowing what was happening, let out a long sigh of frustration. For a brief moment his mask cracked as he watched the colourful areas growing over each other on the boy's skin, on his shoulders, on his back, on his chest, on his arms, weaving and layering, blending in with each other and finally swelling.

In his life, Snape has managed to remain stoic through everything from the deaths of the people around him, to Death Eater attacks on happy and innocent muggle families, and Death Eater meetings during which they had tortured innocent people, not differentiating between men and women, but now, he could feel his carefully constructed mask knitting and splitting at the edges, being ripped to pieces even.

Everything was wrong here. The whole damn situation was _wrong_.

Snape ran a hand through his hair and released a low and troubled sigh – the vision had become true. Very well, taking a deep breath he started to gently unwrap the boy from the towel – he knew what he had to do, after all.

The first thing he noticed was – yes, the boy indeed had dwindled to a bony little thing that by no stretch of imagination could be older than four or five years old while at the same time he knew that Potter stood shortly before his twelfth birthday and therefore shortly before his magical puberty.

He hissed at the blue, green and black bruises on the boy's chest and stomach but the diagnostic spell showed him that this time at least no ribs were broken. So, it wasn't as bad as was his vision, even though it was bad enough in his opinion. Gently he drew the boy closer until the pale forehead rested against his chest and he could look over the bony shoulder – just to see all the cuts and welts he already had seen twice, included the one that ran all the way down from shoulder to hip, and he sighed.

Summoning his potions again he gently pulled the boy from the armchair while trying to keep him as calm as possible by explaining what he was doing, telling him that he would like having him on the floor where he had more space than on the narrow armchair.

A moment later he already had both his hands full of trouble – because with small feet punching out and small hands pushing towards Snape, the boy fought like a demon, but soon enough Snape had control over the situation and before the boy was sure what had happened, he found himself pressed against Snape, his back to the man's front, with both of Snape's arms wrapped around his torso, pinning Harry's arms to his side. The man's grip was like iron, but Harry still struggled to get free.

"Let me go. Let me go and fight me!" The boy screamed, challenged, trying to squirm out of Snape's hold and he knew exactly what the boy was trying, he ignored it thought.

"Stop that." He calmly said, gently tightening his grip. "Calm down. No, stop moving. Be still and concentrate on breathing. Calm down. Just calm down, and I will let you go. Potter? That's alright." He said and he loosened his grip, just slightly, while he put the boy's hands on the ground, giving him the chance to feel reality. "I'm not going to hurt you. That's right Potter, just take deep breaths."

Harry felt his face blushing with embarrassment when he turned his gaze away from the Potions Master who was now kneeling beside him.

"Are you alright now Potter?" The man asked and he nodded, still trying to keep from looking at Snape. But then it was all too much and Harry felt the dam breaking inside him, all his resolve crumbling into pieces. With a choking sob, all the fight left him. Tears filled his eyes, and then began spilling out. He could do nothing but sit there on the floor, held tightly in Snape's arms, and cry. It all hurt so much, all the fear, the despair, the not understanding – all lost in a torrent of tears.

Then Snape's hold began to loose. The man seemed ready to release him, but Harry turned to face him. Half-blind with tears, Harry did the only thing that made sense. He wrapped his arms around Snape and buried his face in the man's stomach. He prayed Snape would not push him away because if he did, Harry was not sure what he would do. Probably go completely crazy with grief. He tightened his arms around Snape and cried even harder into the man's robes.

And then he felt Snape's arms circling around him, holding him and Snape said very softly, "There, there, child, don't worry so much. Pull yourself together, won't you?" But he made no move to push him away and Harry decided that he was never going to let go of the stern man, never, never, ever. So, he kept crying, glad to finally stop running and stop hiding.

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

Being aware of Potter's sobs lessening, his tears drying slowly but surely, even though the boy refused to let go, Snape went through the diagnostic again. It was clear that the boy indeed was eleven years old, but his height was forty inches, the height of a four year old child, or a small five year old child and his weight was twenty-nine pounds, that was too little weight for even a four year old child to begin with. Any average four year old boy would reach about thirty-six pounds after all.

"You really did manage to get yourself worked up right now, didn't you?" Snape said, but there was no sneer behind the word, only worry, because he knew that the diagnostic didn't bode well.

Harry sniffed, letting Snape's mild scolding soothe his tears away. He felt a hand placed on his neck another one gently pulling his head close to the Potions Master's chest while massaging the back of his head and, Merlin, did that feel good! And he was so tired, so tired of pretending and denying and … and he had been just so stupid!

He hiccupped. For a moment he held his breath and already expected a beating, but none came and still the massaging on the back of his head continued for a while longer until the man's chest beneath his ear started rumbling when Snape spoke, something that felt strange, he'd never ever before heard such a thing.

"Very well, Potter." Snape said, softly, trying to sound gently. "If you think you can let go of me for a while, I do need you laying on your stomach so that I can care for these injuries on your back."

Snape chuckled lightly, when the boy only reluctantly released him, a rumbling sound under Harry's ear.

Well, Potter finally pulled away, wiping his face quickly, but he kept a hand on the boy's thin neck to keep him from moving away too far and instead directed him to lay on the soft carpet on the floor. The boy turned his face and red-rimmed eyes on Snape, and he sighed, still sitting on the floor beside his ward.

"I won't lie to you." He softly said while opening the vial with the cleaning solution. The boy had taken a shower, but that didn't mean that his injuries were cleaned out. "I will have to clean the injuries on your back, and that will hurt. I will then apply a healing salve over them before I use a spell that will knit the edges together. This way the cuts will be healed by tomorrow. Lay on your stomach." He then ordered, summoning a pillow for the boy's upper body to lie at so that it would be a bit more comfortable while at the same time he had enough space around the boy.

When he next looked down to place the pillow beneath the boy he gasped again in shock – because he could clearly see the welts, some of them – _"only"_ – being bruises while others were even bleeding and oozing fluid, and he remembered that senseless beating Dursley had bestowed upon the boy – and at the same time he realized … Merlin! He had given the boy a spanking! He actually had –

Gritting his teeth and shoving down his guilt again he started cleaning out the injuries on the boy's back, knowing that he had to do this anyway, and now, and if possible before the boy got even more nervous than he already was and he tried to not imagine the pain he inflicted on the boy, nor the pain he had inflicted on him during the spanking he had given the boy. He ignored the boy's tight muscles and the trebling of his upper body while he cleaned the cuts out, glad the moment he had finished this lovely part.

He summoned a numbing potion and with quick movements he stirred the small vial into the jar with the healing salve before applying the salve over the boy's entire back, not even caring for only covering the cuts and welts.

"I'll have to clean out these injuries on your backside too, Potter." He said, trying to sound as emotionless as possible. The boy was already embarrassed enough as it was, he didn't need any emotion from him, Snape too. "The problem is, I cannot numb them before they are clean, but I will do so as soon as I cover them with the healing salve."

Well, there was a scared nod and he already could feel the boy's muscle tensing even more, and again he could feel the guilt rising in him for what he'd done.

"I have to apologize, Mr. Potter." He said while starting to clean out the first cut, having the boy already struggling and giving away a sharp scream of pain and he placed one strong hand on the small of the boy's back, the one place that was less injured, to keep him on his stomach, while he with his other hand used the cleaning solution on the struggling and openly crying boy's backside.

"Not only for the pain I cause you right now." He softly said while holding the struggling boy in place. "But for the pain I have caused upon you during the spanking. I never would have done so, had I known about your injuries and you really have my apology and my word that I will never ever cause such pain on you for punishment again. Try to relax, Mr. Potter, I will get this over with as quickly as possible."

A few moments later he put the healing salve mixed with the numbing potion on the boy's behind, but even though, it took Potter nearly ten minutes until he had calmed his breathing and relaxed his tight muscles enough so that they stopped their violent trembling, ten minutes during which the boy clearly was feeling the phantom pain in his behind as if it were there for real.

The boy was as open as a book the moment he was through with his back and backside, shaking and shivering violently and he could fell the confusion, the pain and the fear radiating off the boy, he didn't even have to use legillimence to read anything, he even could feel that the boy didn't want him being angry, and he even could feel that the boy didn't want to be sent away and he frowned, didn't understand _that_. It wasn't as if there were no history written between the two after all.

"Potter." Snape tried but didn't get an answer.

"Harry." He then said, trying to pull the boy out of whatever it was he seemed to be stuck in. "I am not angry with you, child, there is no reason to be, and I am not going to hurt you either, nor will I send you away. You may stay here if this is what you want."

Severus spoke softly, while at the same time he relaxed his posture. He wanted Harry to see him as approachable and he knew if he remained sitting as erectly as he was, he'd appear threatening. He'd just realized that not only did his tone of voice influence, or cause, Harry to be fearful, but his whole demeanour could be a trigger. The boy took it all in, most likely on a subconscious level, and reacted accordingly, and worse than any of his Slytherins ever had.

Sighing he picked the small child up when he still got no answer and sat him on the bed before waving his wand and having the boy dressed in a pair of blue pyjamas. He had given the boy some plain water to drink, mixed with a nutrient potion and then he had fed the boy a few sips of broth, had given him a small piece of toast to nimble at.

"Why don't you try and sleep for a while?" He asked, gently covering the small body with the blanket on the bed. "It has been a few strenuous hours and I am sure that your body will be very thankful for the rest. I will not harm you while you sleep and nor will anyone else, you are quite safe, I do promise."

break … ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ … line

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**To be continued**

**Next time in I am here you silly child**

_Another wizard living in a muggle environment curing his holidays and what dealings the teacher would have with the student_

**Added author's note**

thank you for reading - and yes, I would be very grateful if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you …

**House cup: **

a post for the Ravenclaw house is found, in Awen-Meara and I say welcome to the team, may we be able to work together well …

concerning the Hufflepuff head of house I have employed Rjalker, seeing that Loveslife has not met my expectations during her time on probation. you too, welcome to the team, Rjalker … may you be able caring for your Hufflepuffs as well as Snape does for his Slytherins …

the present time it looks like this:

765 - Gryffindor - Head of House: Catlady

798 - Slytherin - Head of House: evil minded

678 - Ravenclaw - Head of House: Awen-Meara

421 - Hufflepuff - Head of House: Rjalker

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**September 13th, 2013**

**Dear readers,**

just wish to inform you about another story – "… and sit a while with me …" – which will shortly start on the Profile of mrs. trabi here on fanfiction.

you will find some known persons in this story, and you will find one or another known incident in the story because the author of the story is me, even though I am posting this story not on my own profile but on my daughter's, and for several reasons so – one of it being because it's a rather unique story compared to my others.

more details you will learn while visiting mrs. trabi's profile:

www fanfiction net /u/2473886/mrs-trabi


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